


when the scars are gone (you can't see bruising)

by sapphirestylan



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Domestic Fluff, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Heavy Angst, M/M, Magic, Mild Gore, Smut, Strangers to Lovers, Survivor Guilt, Vampires, please mind the violence warning !
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-19
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-08-04 06:40:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 63,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16341749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphirestylan/pseuds/sapphirestylan
Summary: They stumble to a stop near the creek, Harry’s paws splashing into the water. It winds along the side of a grass-covered hill, bunches of damp wildflowers waving gently in the breeze. Niall sniffs at the ground, picking up traces of Deo’s scent. It’s stale, though, which means he must have been here days or weeks ago. There’s the warm smell of rabbit, among decaying leaves, earth, the tree bark, no sign of any--A heavy weight slams into his side, and he’s toppled over, a sharp bark escaping his mouth as he finds himself pinned on his back. Harry looms over him, body pressed tight against Niall’s. He growls threateningly, though panic is pooling in his chest and fear is seizing up his limbs.And then Harry tilts his head to the side, eyes round, jaw firmly shut. If his face was human, he figures he’d be pouting, saying,you’re not any fun, are you?Niall just wishes he would stop acting like he’s about to murder him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NarryMusings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NarryMusings/gifts).



> most of this fic takes place in a real town in northern california, though the only thing i used of it is its location. it's near mt. lassen national forest, which is another major location in the story. (i've also been there once or twice, and i recommend visiting if you ever get the chance because it’s gorgeous!) other geography isn't necessarily accurate and was probably twisted to fit the plot. 
> 
> big thank you to the mods for making this wonderful exchange possible and for being so patient with me :)
> 
> title is from lucozade by zayn.

_**incipio**_. Latin, meaning: to take in hand, to begin, to commence.

 

(x)

 

Niall can smell it on him the moment he walks in.

The stranger looks nearly garish in the little cafe, with his olive green headscarf and black and white patterned shirt whose buttons don’t meet about half way down. No one normal dresses like that, especially not here, and especially not in the rain. Niall tilts his head, lifts his jaw, and takes a deep whiff of the new air that rushed in when the door opened.

 _Car exhaust, hot rubber tires._  Must have driven a long way, then. Niall watches as the green-eyed stranger pauses, hands flitting over his rain-spotted shirt to smooth it. There’s shadows underneath his eyes, his features sharp and gaunt. He looks exhausted, and desperately out-of-place.

 _Damp earth, pine needles, blood._  But he already knew that much, didn’t he? The stranger walks slowly up to the counter, eyes fixed on the menu board above the cashier’s head. He must not have noticed Niall yet, then, which means he’s either inexperienced or distracted. Niall can forgive him for that, there  _are_  an awful lot of scents swirling around a busy little place like this, especially with the TV blaring in the corner, the chatter, the rain washing away whispers of conversation outside. Niall always finds himself in sneezing fits when he comes to public places, with all the floral perfume and the overwhelming musk of cologne.

And then,  _peaches_. Niall blinks, surprised. The stranger smells like peaches, and-  _strawberries_.

He’s been sitting in this sticky faux-leather padded booth for three hours now, under Liam’s orders, just waiting for this specimen to amble in off the street. He doesn’t think he can be patient much longer.

Almost as soon as he’s had the thought, the man tilts his head up, appearing contemplative over scones or donuts to anyone but Niall, and sniffs, hard. And then his head swivels around and Niall finds himself pinned underneath a lighthouse-like gaze, one that’s knowing and wary.  _So he finally noticed._

He doesn’t flinch or make a run for it as this strangely dressed werewolf wanders through the maze of tables and chairs, heading straight for him. He smiles politely while the man slides into the other side of his booth without permission. He does, however, flip his switchblade out and cough loudly to muffle the little snick it makes. Just in case.

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” the man says quietly, his voice rough. “You can put your knife away.”

He gives him another terse smile, and tells Liam.  _He’s here._  “I’d rather not. You can never be sure, right?”

 _I’m coming,_  he hears back in his head.  _Is he alone?_

_Alone, hungry, and exhausted. Don’t bring too many, we don’t want to scare him off. We need his info._

_Stay safe,_  he hears, and then Liam is off again, probably rounding up the pack. The stranger is still staring at him, his eyes a murky green. The color reminds Niall of the lake he used to go swimming in, when he was younger. Before things changed.

“Your alpha,” the stranger asks, leaning closer and folding his tattooed arms on the table. It’s not a show of strength, or dominance, though it would be if his hands weren’t trembling. “You were talking to him, yeah?”

“How could you tell?”

“The look in your eyes.”

“And where’s your alpha?” Niall says evenly, tone nothing but polite. He doesn’t want a fight, and he’s definitely not looking for one. Not with his knee  _still_  jacked up from those scummy vampires a month ago. He rakes his gaze over the man’s lean frame, the hunched shoulders. If he had to fight, he’d have a ten percent chance of coming out unscathed and maybe forty of surviving. After all, hungry wolves are always the most dangerous.

“My pack is dead,” the man says, stiffening and looking down at the table as if interested in the grain.

_He says they're dead._

_Is he lying?_  Liam asks briskly.  _They’re probably waiting to jump us as soon as we let our guard down. Don’t fall into a trap, Niall._

And, yeah, Niall knows what Liam is afraid of. Him getting lured in by some pretty boy, making the mistake of trusting him, letting them all be caught unawares by a territory-hungry pack. It’s never going to happen, though. He doesn’t care that this wolf is exhausted and weak and vulnerable; he interrogates him anyways.

“When?”

“A week ago.”

“Where?”

“About a hundred miles north of here, near Redding.”

“How many of them were there?”

“Around twenty, give or take.”

“Your alpha’s name?”

“Zayn.”

 _Zayn_. Of course. They’d known about his pack for years, and Zayn tried encroaching on their territory more times than he can count on both hands, though Niall was never in those fights himself.

“Who killed them?” he asks, his tone blunt. Maybe it’s the shifting eyes, or the way he keeps running his hands through his hair, or that he keeps shivering spasmodically every few minutes, but Niall doesn’t trust him.

“A pack from Fern Canyon,” the man says, folding his hands. Niall’s eyes drop down to trace over his tattoos, the cross between his forefinger and thumb, the edge of another one peeking out from under his sleeve. “They were so much bigger. I’ll bet they’ve recruited other groups under a death threat.”

“And what happened?”

The man finally lifts his eyes, his expression dark. “They were trying to take our land. We attempted talking, bargaining, but none of it worked. It was either join them or be killed, and we- you know how a pack is. We stuck together till the end, except- I managed to escape at the last minute. I don’t know if it was luck, or if they let me go on purpose, but I escaped.”

“Right,” Niall says slowly, though his mind is racing. Territory wars are common enough, but an entire pack being wiped out? “And how do I know you’re not a spy? That you didn’t desert your pack to join them?” His skin crawls at the thought, though he knows that as long as they’re in public he won’t be able to harm him without causing a scene. He glances around. There’s enough people here to see.

“You don’t,” the man admits, biting his lower lip so hard it turns red. “You have to trust me.”

“Trust you?” Niall scoffs, leaning back and folding his arms. “My alpha will decide what to do with you, so we’re gonna wait until he gets here.” He lifts an eyebrow, searching his face for something, anything that’ll give away his fear. He knows he won’t find any. Wolves don’t ever, ever show they’re afraid. “What did you say your name was?”

“I didn’t. It’s Harry,” he says, lips quirking into a weak smile as he sticks his hand out over the table. “Harry Styles.”

Niall eyes him cautiously, his name ringing like a feedback loop over and over in his head. He shakes his hand tightly.

“Niall Horan.”

 

 

\---

 

 

“I don’t trust him,” Laura whispers furtively into his ear. “He looks like a mangy dog.”

Niall frowns and nods, distractedly watching Willie peel another piece of bark off the twig he’s got in his hand. The scratch of his fingernails against the wood sends another shiver up Niall’s spine. He stretches his legs out, bum sore from sitting on the uneven curb that marks the edge of the lot. “Neither do I.”

“He’s been hitchhiking with barely any rest or food for six days and his pack’s just been slaughtered,” Willie argues promptly. “Give him a break.”

Laura grabs the stick from Willie's hand and snaps it in half under her heel, hair falling into her face. Niall was surprised she’d come, since she lived on the outskirts of their territory, but wasn’t exactly shocked that everyone wanted a look at Harry. Any strange werewolf would usually be killed on sight, but given that their border nymphs had seen him driving this way two days ago, checking out his story, they’d agreed to give him a chance to surrender. Not a decision he agrees with, but it’s not up to him.

Harry seems to be using that chance well, remaining calm and polite despite their poking and prodding. He’s near Liam’s pick-up truck now, talking with the alpha himself.

“D’you know what? He looks like a frog.” Laura observes, and Willie throws another twig at her face. She bats it away, scowling. He barely hears their argument fire up as he gets to his feet and heads over to Liam and Harry, his feet crunching on the gravel underneath.

They’re in the back lot behind the town’s one and only diner, which is used as parking space for the employees. He’s known the owner, Stevie, since he was little, so she lets them hang out back here. She doesn’t know about the whole werewolf thing, though. He's not sure what she thinks they’re getting up to out here, but it’s probably not hopscotch.

Liam sees him coming towards them and holds up a finger. Harry stops talking instantly, and Niall adds it to his list of reasons not to trust him. No proper werewolf would ever answer so pliantly to another alpha, even if his own is dead.

“What’s going on?” He asks, gaze darting between then, but Liam just grabs his arm and leads them away from the car, away from Harry, towards the edge of the lot where the gravel turns to damp soil and the fir branches tremble threateningly at them.

“What the hell are we meant to do with him?” Liam asks, his voice hushed. Niall can see Harry over his shoulder, slumped against the car and rubbing a weary hand over his face.

“Leave him,” Niall answers simply. “I’m sure he can fend for himself.”

“What?” Liam hisses, eyes narrowing. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Why?”

“Because he deserves a chance, Niall. We can’t just kick him out onto the street.”

“Why does he deserve that chance?” 

“His pack’s been slaughtered, he’s got nowhere to go-”

“And what if that’s not true?” He points out, shifting his weight to one hip. “What if he’s a spy, what if he’s just infiltrating us-”

“What kind of people are we if we can’t trust anybody, Niall?”

He pauses, the wolf throbbing on the inside like an old bruise. “We’re not people.”

“You don’t believe that,” Liam says in a low voice, eyes softer than he can bear. Liam is a more than capable alpha, but when it comes to being tough- to putting the safety of the pack above the wellbeing of some street rat, no matter how convincing their puppy eyes are, he lacks. His heart’s too big. That’s where Niall comes in.

“We can’t afford to trust strangers. You know that.”

“I trusted you,” Liam insists. “I trusted you, and Laura, and Bressie, even though you were all total strangers to me when I found you.”

“But this is different! This isn’t just some newly-turned pup, he’s from another pack-”

“Exactly,” Liam cuts him off, eyes lighting up, and the realization settles over him slowly. “That’s why he’s valuable. If we can get any information out of him, we’ll be prepared. Plus, if that pack ever does come down here--we’ll need the extra body anyways.”

Niall chews on his inside of his cheek. Liam does have a point. Harry is valuable if he stays, and if they let him go, their chance of winning against Fern Canyon’s pack decreases. Healthy, Harry could probably be as powerful as Liam. “Does his story check out?”

“We’re still waiting on word from Conor, but save for that his story is sound.”

Niall glances back at Harry, who’s still leaning against the car and staring at the pair of them. “And where, hypothetically, would he stay?”

Liam brightens up, a pleased grin crossing his face. “With you.”

“Excuse me?” Niall coughs, choking on his own spit in shock. “He’ll stick a knife between my ribs the moment I turn my back.”

“He can’t stick a knife between anything at this point. He’s exhausted.”

“And what about when he’s not?”

“If you don’t want to do it, that’s alright,” Liam starts to say, but Niall just shakes his head, the familiar need to prove himself knocking back into him and anchoring him in the decision.

“I can handle it.”

“Are you sure?”

He heaves a sigh, anxiety buzzing in the pit of his stomach and making it churn.  _For the good of the pack._  “Yeah.”

“And try not to be too rough with him, yeah?” Liam reminds him, voice quieter. “Figure he could use a friend.”

The rest of the pack disperses with little chatter as he and Liam move towards them. Most go back around the building to the front parking lot, but a couple disappear off into the woods for a run. Niall watches them go, a distant ache at his navel. He can feel the energy rolling underneath his skin, the itch in the palms of his hands he always gets when the wolf is chained up for too long.

“So?” Harry says suddenly, and Niall turns his attention back to him. They move away from Liam’s battered pick-up truck as the alpha hops in, gives Niall a little salute before he backs out, and rumbles out of the lot. “What are you gonna do with me?”

Niall peels his eyes away from Liam’s dented bumper and sighs. “You can stay with us, if you like. You’re not going to be a part of the pack anytime soon, but. You can stay.”

“Really?” Harry’s eyes widen, and he gives him a watery smile. It looks like the sun breaking through the clouds, a bit. “Thank you. You don’t know what it means to me.”

“Don’t thank me, thank Liam,” Niall interrupts, shaking his head. “C’mon. You’re staying with me.”

 

 

\---

 

 

The drive home is silent. Niall keeps drumming his fingers against the wheel, Harry keeps pulling at the rip in his jeans, and both of them steal glances at each other while they think the other isn’t looking.

Harry’s profile is delicate against the pale sky outside, the rain having cleared up half an hour ago. His hair is frizzy and would probably be damp to the touch. Not that he wants to touch it. Though he does want to ask what kind of shampoo he uses because the rain hasn’t yet washed away that fruity scent on him.

When they get home, it only takes him two well-directed shoves to unjam the front door rather than the usual five or six. He shows Harry his room, the only other bedroom in the house, right across the hall from his. He shows him the kitchen, and the tiny living room, the bathroom.

He watches carefully as Harry takes it all in, sees the way his eyes slide over the ripped sofa and the scarred coffee table, the constant drip of water in the bathroom sink and the shower curtain with yellow ducks on it. He doesn’t make any niceties about how Niall has ‘such a lovely home’ (which he’d heard before from the middle-aged lady next door who baked him cookies when he first moved in), and Niall grudgingly appreciates it. If there’s one thing he hates, it’s liars.

Harry shuts himself up in his room after the little tour, and Niall leaves him alone. He’s still a stranger, after all, and one that’s potentially dangerous. He still doesn’t know what to think of Harry; he’s polite, if a bit reserved, but for all he knows it’s nothing but a façade to cover up the fact that he’s a spy. Liam seems to trust him, but then again, Liam trusts everyone. It’s a glaring flaw, one that puts him at risk, but Niall knows he’ll never change. He has too much good in him to ever stop seeing it in others.

Instead of worrying about it, he tidies up the kitchen, organizing and reorganizing the dusty cabinets, and the bookshelf in the living room that’s missing two shelves and leans a little too much to the left to be safe.

As he’s doing it, his eyes catch on a copy of The Collected Poems of Emily Dickinson, the cover worn and tattered underneath his fingers as he pulls it out from between its companions. It was his father’s, and then his brother’s, even though Greg was too young to understand any of it.

Just the sight of the book takes him back to lazy Sunday afternoons with his father reading to the both of them- outside, on the porch, after his mother’s death. He would play with his toy cars, rolling them over the wood, and Greg would sit next to him and listen, always eager to please.

There’s a line from a poem in this book Niall can still recite from memory, only because of the bitter irony it struck him with a month or two after the incident:

_Ashes denote the fire that was; respect the grayest pile for the departed creature’s sake that hovered there awhile._

He flips the book in his hand. The corners of all the pages are charred, and the back cover is missing entirely, but there--he flips it open to the middle, to where he can see the spine peeking through. Tucked into the yellowed pages is a photograph.

In it, they’re standing next to the lake, Bobby’s arm around Greg, and Niall, only four years old, up on his shoulders, sunhat flopping half into his face.

He still goes there sometimes. To the lake. It’s only ten miles away, shorter if he goes through the forest, but Liam doesn’t like him going because there’s a very high cliff that juts out over the water that isn’t meant for jumping for fun.

“Niall?”

He nearly jumps out of his skin at the sound, the book falling out of his hands and hitting the floor with a dull thump. When he turns around, Harry is standing in the kitchen, hovering near the island awkwardly.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” he apologizes, moving gingerly towards him. Niall just bends down and picks up the book. It’s split in two, the binding finally giving up, and he barely restrains himself from letting out a pointed, drawn-out sigh.

“Emily Dickinson?” Harry continues softly, and Niall nods jerkily. He knows it’s not exactly Harry’s fault that he dropped the book, but if he hadn’t sneaked up on him and just announced himself like any normal person would, he wouldn’t be holding two halves of the only thing left from his childhood home. “I read that when I was younger,” Harry tells him. “Never understood a word.”

“What did you want?” Niall asks bluntly, pushing all thoughts of his dead family out of his head. He was done dwelling on it a long time ago, and he isn’t about to start now.

“I, uh,” Harry starts, reaching up and scratching his neck. “I was wondering if we could go for a run. To shift, like.”

Niall hesitates, taken aback. “Alright.”

 _Good_ , he thinks to himself. This is the perfect time to find out Harry’s habits, and just how out of shape he is.

He’s startled to find it’s evening already when they step outside, the steel blue sky steadily darkening as he leads Harry towards the car. The hairs on his arms are standing up and he loosens the wolf’s bonds the tiniest bit, in case he needs to make a quick escape. Beside him, Harry keeps splashing through the puddles, the muddied water flecking on the bottom of his jeans.

The drive to the national forest is less than fifteen minutes this late in the day. Harry’s eyes are glued to the view passing by outside the window, at the silhouettes of massive, spiky pine trees against a hazy sky. Niall tries not to stare for too long.

They leave the car locked on the side of the road as soon as they get deep enough into the park, and he stuffs the keys into his pockets. He glances over at Harry, who’s untying the bandana from his hair. “How long’s it been?”

“As long as I’ve been on the road,” Harry replies, and Niall almost winces. That’s around a week. It’s not safe to keep a wolf chained up for that long. Rumor is it happened to a wolf up in Oregon, once. Went a whole month without shifting, and when she finally did, she wasn’t human again for two. It’s about balance, he supposes. Something like that.

Niall himself has gone without shifting for three days, and as a result, the wolf is all too eager to emerge. His bones crack sharply in the stillness, joined by Harry’s, their bodies reforming in the dusky light until they stand on four paws.

The rain tends to clear out the air, but he can still pick up traces of car exhaust, of pine and soil and the warm blood sloshing around the two of them. There’s always something rumbling underfoot, as well, far below the cover of soil and rotting leaves and mushrooms. Something burning. Bressie thinks it must be residue from the last volcanic eruption, all the molten rock and ash. It’s terrifying, and comforting, to know that something that big could wipe them out so quickly.

He can’t hear much more than the distant buzz of power lines and Harry’s snuffling as he yawns next to him, shaking out his fur and stretching. It strikes Niall that Harry would make a magnificent wolf if not for the visible ribs peeking through the tangled dark brown fur that covers him from head to toe. He’s bigger than him, but not by much. If things go awry, Niall would still have a fighting chance, especially with Harry so weak.

Niall lifts his head, glancing back at the car where it’s parked by the side of the road, and then ahead, where there’s nothing but miles of vast woods. They always have to be careful of tourists, even in the protected sections of the park, even at night.

Suddenly, Harry darts over to him, and in the split second before he reaches him Niall thinks about how stupid he was to trust Harry at all, but no. He takes him by surprise by giving him a sloppy, friendly lick on the nose, and then he’s tearing across the landscape, darting over the maze of fallen trees. Niall is stock-still for a moment, in shock, and then races after him.

For a few, short hours, there’s nothing but him and the wolf and the ground underneath him, nothing to do but run and run and run, an indescribable electricity thrumming through his veins. And Harry, of course, who keeps doubling back and nipping at Niall’s underbelly as if to spur him on, his tongue lolling out of his open jaws as they sprint over miles of wooded land. The first few times he does it, Niall braces himself, jaw clenching and muscles tensing- before he realizes Harry isn’t trying to bite his face off.

It’s different than running with Liam or another packmate. There’s no connection between their minds. They can’t speak to each other. But somehow, it’s  _better_ ; not having to talk. Not having to communicate what he’s feeling or know what Harry’s feeling is looser, freer.

They stumble to a stop near the creek, Harry’s paws splashing into the water. It winds along the side of a grass-covered hill, bunches of damp wildflowers waving gently in the breeze. Niall sniffs at the ground, picking up traces of Deo’s scent. It’s stale, though, which means he must have been here days or weeks ago. There’s the warm smell of rabbit, among decaying leaves, earth, the tree bark, no sign of any-

A heavy weight slams into his side, and he’s toppled over, a sharp bark escaping his mouth as he finds himself pinned on his back. Harry looms over him, body pressed tight against Niall’s. He growls threateningly, though panic is pooling in his chest and fear is seizing up his limbs.

And then Harry tilts his head to the side, eyes round, jaw firmly shut. If his face was human, he figures he’d be pouting, saying,  _you’re not any fun, are you_. Niall just wishes he would stop acting like he’s about to murder him.

He goes along with it anyways, indulging him, leaning up and nipping lightly at his shoulder. Harry yelps and springs off, playing it up and cowering as Niall stalks towards him, baring his teeth. All of the day’s earlier exhaustion and lingering sadness seems to melt off Harry the way a duck sheds water, leaving behind some semblance of the person--the wolf--Harry must have been only a few short days earlier. Before all his friends were murdered.

Harry jumps at him and they tumble down the hilltop tangled together, Harry grunting every time he ends up below Niall. They break apart at the bottom and he rolls to a stop, hind leg pinned awkwardly underneath Harry’s weight. He scrambles away, not too eager to re-injure his knee, and Harry just rolls around in the grass until he stinks of wildflowers and rabbit dung.

Niall doesn’t even bring up going back home until much later, when all the stars are glimmering in the sky and the moon watches over the two of them. Harry as a wolf has less grief clinging to his edges than Harry as a person does, and he won’t be the one to take another short hour of freedom away from him. And not just because he’s supposed to make friends with him.

It’s after they finally arrive home and just before Niall is headed off to sleep that he hears a knock at his bedroom door, tentative and quiet. The water’s shut off now, so Harry must be done with his shower, probably looking for spare clothes or something.

He flicks on the lights and opens the door to see Harry standing on the other side, holding something behind his back. Every muscle in Niall’s body tenses on instinct, a burst of adrenaline spiking through his blood--

“I brought you an ice pack,” Harry says.

Niall blinks. “You what?”

The tips of Harry’s ears flush pink, though that could just be the shoddy lighting. “You were limping on the way home, so I figured your leg--or your knee?--was bothering you. I just grabbed this from the freezer, but if you don’t need it-”

“I do, actually,” Niall says quietly, still stunned. “Thank you.”

Harry brightens visibly, his shoulders relaxing as he hands him the ice pack. There’s wet spots on his t-shirt from his hair dripping on it, and Niall wonders briefly how he's not freezing to death right now. “No problem.” The ice burns his hands with how cold it is, and he squeezes it tight, one hand on the doorknob. “G’night, Niall.”

“Night, Harry,” he replies, and Harry offers him a brief but genuine smile before turning and padding down the hallway towards his bedroom.

Niall shuts the door, staring down at the sweating ice pack in his hands. Harry’s had all his friends murdered in front of him, escaped death, been on the road for six days, starving, weak, and exhausted, just moved into a strange house with minimal heating and a person he doesn’t know, and he notices Niall’s barely-there limp?

 _Huh_.

 

 

\---

 

 

Niall wakes up the next morning to the sound of rain pattering on the roof. The strong scent of sizzling bacon reaches him and he sits up quickly- and then immediately regrets it when his head gives a painful throb and bile rises up in his throat. The mornings after a shift resemble a very, very bad hangover, and he’s feeling it more than usual.

There’s movement in the kitchen, and he remembers with something that feels like an electric shock that he has a guest. He stumbles to his feet, dizziness overtaking him until he has to lean on the doorframe while he opens the door a crack. “Harry?”

“Yeah?” The sizzling stops abruptly, and he hears the  _click click_  of the burner being switched off. “You ready for breakfast?”

There’s a moment of silence.

“Also, where are your plates?”

Niall stifles a yawn, rubbing his eyes with one hand and closing his door behind him with the other. “Left cabinet above the microwave,” he calls back, shuffling down the hallway blearily and trying not to bump into any walls. He enters the kitchen to see Harry plating the bacon and eggs from the pan, an over exaggerated focus on his face. “You didn’t have to make breakfast,” he tells him, even as his mouth waters.

Harry shrugs. “I like keeping myself busy. It was no trouble.”

Although Harry hasn’t done anything to provoke him--in fact, the opposite--his eyes flash instinctively to the knife block on the counter. Harry’s closer to it, but if he reached over the stove instead of going around, he could get there quicker. Liam’s presence is still in his head, as familiar and comforting as a warm blanket. The connection is open but not active, so if he needed him, he’d be there.

His eyes fall to the door behind Harry. Locked.

“Stop it,” Harry says quietly, and Niall nearly chokes on his own spit.

“What?”

“I’m not going to hurt you, Niall. I know you still don’t trust me, but believe me when I say that if I wanted you dead I would have done it already.”

Feeling surprisingly guilty, Niall looks back down at his plate. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Harry hands him a fork before turning around and  settling down at the island. “I would feel the same if I were in your position.”

Niall’s never met a werewolf who ate their food politely or cleanly, and Harry does both. Maybe he’s just been around too many scruffy wolves that don’t know what chewing with their mouth closed means or how to eat a meal slowly.

He does his best to eat like Harry, but his stomach is rumbling and he is, after all, a slave to it. Harry doesn’t say anything about it, or point out the smear of grease on Niall’s chin. Though he does stare it at until Niall reaches up and wipes it away with the back of his hand, his face a spectacular shade of red. It's stupid, being embarrassed in front of a guy he barely knows and one he would loathe under normal conditions, but it happens all the same. 

“Yesterday,” Harry says, tapping his fork lightly against his plate. “Outside the diner. Was that the whole pack?”

“Yeah,” Niall says, wiping his mouth again self-consciously. “Seven total.”

Harry smiles a little, pushing his bacon around. “I don’t think they liked me very much.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Well, one of them said I looked like a frog.”

Niall really does choke this time, his face heating up as he coughs and tries valiantly not to die while Harry sits expressionless across the table. What a laugh that'd be.  _Niall Horan, rugged werewolf, able to fell vampires and monsters and witches, taken down by a strip of bacon._  “She didn’t mean it.” He clears his throat loudly. “And you, you don’t,” he stammers, embarrassment feeling like it’s set his skin on fire, “look like a frog.”

“Personally, I pride myself on my amphibian qualities,” Harry says off-handedly, and Niall can’t help but laugh a little, even if he still feels like he’s about to melt into a puddle of shame. Harry grins back at him, dimples in full force, and though he feels awful for having agreed with Laura yesterday, it seems like he’s being forgiven.

“How many were in your pack?” He asks without thinking, and only realizes his mistake when Harry’s smile slips into a grimace.  _Stupid_ , he thinks.  _You stupid fuck._

“Nine,” Harry answers, attention dropping back to his plate. “Including me.”

“I’m sorry,” Niall blurts, biting his lip hard and praying nothing else idiotic or insensitive comes out of his mouth. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

Harry just shrugs, the light catching his eyes as he leans back in his chair. “That’s life, isn’t it?” He looks back up at Niall, pausing, and it’s all Niall can do to stare back. But then a smile starts creeping back onto Harry’s face, syrupy sweet and slow, and his cheeks heat up for a different reason.

“What?”

Harry just grins wider. “You have something right here,” he says, pointing to the corner of his mouth, and Niall wipes it away quickly, fairly certain he resembles an overripe tomato at this point.

Harry insists on washing up afterwards, even though it only makes Niall feel worse for being a bad host. Harry points out that they should think of the situation more as them being roommates, since as soon as he gets back on his feet he can start looking into a job to help shoulder the bills.

Niall drives to Liam’s house half an hour later. He has Harry settled in on the couch at home with about fifty blankets and  _Legally Blonde_  popped in _,_  telling Niall not to worry about him while he was out. Specifically, his words were,  _I won’t burn the house down or anything,_  but Niall couldn’t find it in himself to force a laugh at that. He thinks Harry might have noticed.

He lets himself in the house, kicking the door shut behind him and slinging the key on the necklace back around his neck. “Payno!” He calls, tugging his shoes off.

“In here!”

Niall follows the trail of Liam’s scent into the kitchen, where he’s standing by the counter with another one of those putrid green health smoothies in the blender. “Morning!”

“Disgusting,” he replies, tapping the lid of the blender. “Dunno why you do it to yourself.”

“It’s good for you, Niall,” Liam informs him, echoing words he’s said probably a thousand times before. “How’s our guest doing?”

Niall plops down at the kitchen island. Liam’s house has the same layout as his own, only flipped. “We went for a run yesterday, and he made breakfast this morning.”

“Did he poison you?”

“No.”

“Did he attack you?”

“No.”

“Did he try to kill you?”

“No.”

“Did he hurt you in any way?”

“No.” His knee twinges in protest.

“Are you sure?”

“What?”

“Your knee. You limped over here, it’s clearly bothering you. Did he hurt you?” Liam speaks quietly, his tone docile, but Niall knows that if he said the word Liam would be after Harry in less than a heartbeat and probably tear him to shreds. He appreciates it, having someone like a big brother to look after him, but he tells Liam the truth.

“It was an accident.”

Liam hums noncommittally. “What’s your point?” Niall sighs, glancing up at the ceiling. It’s always well-lit in Liam’s house, always some scented autumn-themed candle burning in the corner. Niall would have moved in with him himself if Louis hadn’t beat him to it.

“If he was going to hurt you, don’t you think he would have done it already?” Liam asks, echoing Harry’s own words. He shrugs begrudgingly, tracing random shapes on his knee through the rip in his jeans.

“Laura managed to get me more information on Zayn,” Liam adds as an afterthought, and all thoughts of Harry are wiped clean from his mind.

“And?” He prompts, straightening up. “They’re really all dead?”

Liam nods grimly. “Everything Harry said checked out. Which means the pack does exist, and they are looking for more territory. We might be next, Niall.”

Despite the warmth in the kitchen, a chill crawls up his spine slowly. He can almost hear his bones creaking under the familiar pressure of fear. “We’ll be ready for them,” he says firmly, but both of them know it’s a shallow promise, and one neither of them can keep.

He lingers in Liam’s kitchen discussing border reinforcements and backup defenses until rays of late morning sunlight begin to touch his clothes and paint rectangles of gold over the wooden floor. At Liam’s insistence, he takes home half a blender of kale smoothie in case Harry wants to try it. (Although Liam’s a bit off in the head if he really thinks anyone but him would find it to be edible, yet alone appetizing.)

He trudges through the puddles on the street on the way home the way Harry had last night, not in any rush. He passes the bakery, and the secondhand bookstore, and the Goodwill that closed down three years ago. Everything so familiar. He’s still surprised, to this day, that he stayed so close to home after what happened.

He loves this town, though. Even if it’s small, and poor, and in the middle of nowhere. It’s home. There’s so many memories everywhere, almost woven into the air they breathe. He’d never want to leave.

And it isn’t painful anymore. It’s just a distant memory, now, and all the anguish of losing his family--it happened to a different person, almost. In a way, it’s true, because it happened years before he was turned into a werewolf. Maybe it’s weird that he thinks of himself that way, like a before and after. He wonders if Harry feels that way too.

He makes his way up the porch, the wooden slats creaking underneath his weight, the sound as familiar as an old friend. The first thing he notices when he goes to open the door is the light. He leans over and stares through the window, considerably unnerved at the sight. The kitchen lights are on, as well as in the living room, and it shocks the breath out of him. He can’t remember the last time his house was well lit. He tends to prefer a state of constant gloom, which drew a lot of concern from his packmates and especially Liam, but it was always just more comfortable. And less expensive.

He cracks the door open. Music is playing from the record player Bressie bought him for Christmas one year, and he listens for a moment- it’s  _Rumours_.

He toes his shoes off by the door cautiously, shutting the door behind him and locking it out of habit. Someone is singing along to the music, their voice low but pretty damn gorgeous.

He creeps towards the kitchen quietly until he stands, unnoticed, in the doorway. Harry is standing with his back towards him, and he’s- he’s dancing to the music, bouncing his leg in time and doing a little shimmy every now and then. It throws Niall off, is what it does. It’s a good surprise, if a hilariously ridiculous one.

He shuffles up behind Harry, barely able to conceal his laughter. “What are you-”

“Fucking hell!” Harry shrieks and whirls around, clutching a bowl to his chest. The spatula in it sticks out dangerously. His hair is tied back into a tiny ponytail at the top of his head, cheeks flushed and pink, nothing less than absolute terror in his eyes. He looks ridiculous. 

Niall says as much, and Harry frowns, ears going red. Something loosens in Niall’s chest, and for a moment, he forgets all about defense tactics and the looming threat of war over them all.

“How long have you been standing there?” Harry demands, and Niall grins, running his fingertips along the counter. 

“Long enough to know you’re an awful dancer.”

“Well, I wasn’t aware I was being judged, so.”

The oven is on, and behind Harry there’s a knife and the remains of apples on the counter. Niall sniffs, curious. “Are you...baking?”

Harry snorts, setting the bowl down. “Yes, genius.”

The corner of Niall’s lips quirk up into a half-smile, his heart throbbing unexpectedly in his chest. There’s something warm curling in his gut at the sight of it all. His mum used to bake all the time before the accident. At least, that’s what his dad used to tell him. He was too young to remember any of her.

“How did you-”

“The ingredients? You didn’t have much, lemme tell you that,” Harry says, boosting himself up on the counter to sit. In doing so, his butt shoves another bowl precariously close to the edge of the counter. “I went next door, reckoned an old lady would have some puff pastry for me to borrow. She’s got a lot of cats, though. Smelled awful.”

“What are you making?” Niall asks, turning back to face Harry, and- the kitchen lights against Harry’s hair creates something like a golden halo around his head, and his eyes drop down, for some reason, to Harry’s throat.

 _Bite_ , the wolf snaps.

“Caramel apple tart.” Harry says.

“Smells good.”

“Thanks.” Harry’s smile slips the tiniest bit. “Where did you go?”

“Just over to Liam’s.”

Harry pouts, none too subtle, and suddenly it occurs to Niall that he might think it was because of him. That Niall didn’t want to be around him. For what seems to be the tenth time that morning, Niall realizes he made a mistake. Leaving Harry alone isn’t exactly the best idea, not when he’s used to having eight other bodies around him and always someone to talk to.

“Niall?”

He blinks rapidly, a blush blooming on his cheeks as he realizes he was staring at him the entire time. “Sorry.”

Harry tries to hide his smile, and fails, and for some reason Niall warms at the sight. Some stupid, foolish reason.

“They’ll be ready in twenty minutes or so.” Harry says, slipping off the counter and turning his back to Niall.

“What?”

“The pastry, dummy,” he mumbles, distracted. “It’s baking right now.”

“Oh, right. Yeah.” Niall stuffs his hands into his pockets. “I’ll, um. I’ll be in my room if you need me.”

“Alright.” Harry waves at him, and Niall can feel another one of those idiotic smiles coming on his face, so he turns around quickly and speed-walks down the hallway so that Harry can't see it.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> violence warning for this chapter !!

_**venatio**_. Latin, meaning: to hunt; the combat of wild beasts.

 

(x)

  

The next couple of days pass fairly similar, except Niall goes out for his shift at the bookstore early in the morning and comes home around lunchtime. He has a couple of hours to kill before he heads off to the supermarket, and then he comes back home in the evening. He avoids talking about any of the pack updates with Harry, who spends his time baking or reading or going for runs with Liam and sharing smoothie recipes with him.

They go shopping and buy Harry new clothes since Niall doesn’t have any jeans that’ll fit him and his long, spindly legs, and it’s during this trip that Niall discovers Harry’s peacock-like tendency to preen almost ridiculously when complimented, especially on his unique taste in clothing. (Harry spent most of his time in the women’s section and came out with at least three sheer blouses, two of which Niall shot down immediately.) Harry’s even talking about maybe looking into a job at the bakery, and Niall’s starting to think everything will work itself out. 

Except not everything is going so well. He finds this out by accident, when he comes home earlier than usual from his morning shift. The house is quiet, and Niall would think Harry was out of the house except for the fact that there isn’t any note on the fridge.

He searches the house, shivering, and eventually finds Harry in his bedroom, a photograph in his hands. “Harry?” He tries, frowning. “It’s freezing in here, do you want me to turn the heat on?”

Silence. 

Niall steps closer, staring at the familiar slope of Harry’s back. “H? You alright?”

Harry finally turns toward him, and he isn’t crying. At least--not currently. There’s still a trace of redness in his eyes, and his face is blotchy. Niall’s eyes fall to the picture in Harry’s hands, the edges trembling with how he’s shaking. In the picture, there’s a group of people sitting in what appears to be someone’s backyard. Some of them are standing, some sitting, beers in hand, in candid conversation, not noticing that their picture is being taken.

Except for one person--standing in the center of the frame, one hand outstretched to point at the camera, a surprised smile on his face, familiar head of curls wild as ever, and one arm looped around a dark-haired boy of around the same age. _Zayn._ Niall recognizes him from years of Louis complaining about him and his stupidly chiseled cheekbones.

"Where'd you get that?" He slaps himself mentally as soon as the words leave his mouth. He should be comforting Harry, and here he is demanding where he got the photo from.  

"Was in my wallet," Harry says hoarsely. "Still had it when I got here." 

“And that's...that’s your pack?” Niall asks carefully. He kind of wants to reach out and grab his hand to stop it from shaking so much, but he doesn't. 

Harry’s eyes slide listlessly from Niall back down to the picture. “I should’ve died with them,” he mutters instead of answering, voice heartrendingly raw.

Any comforting words Niall might have had die in his throat, because he knows that feeling. He knows it so well. He’s lived with it every day since he was sixteen, let it rip him to shreds every second of every day, let it devour him and leave him nothing but a guilty shell. It was only when he met Liam, when he met Louis and Perrie and Bressie and Laura that he found some semblance of peace with himself. With what happened.

So when he speaks, it’s not because Liam told him that Harry might need a friend, or because he needs to be nice to get information from him. It’s because he wants to.

“Don’t say that,” he murmurs, voice tight as he studies Harry’s face. “It’s not true.”

“It is true.” A muscle in Harry’s jaw feathers as he stares down at the picture, squeezing it so hard his fingertips go white. “I was supposed to die with them.”

Part of him should’ve expected to find Harry like this at some point. Everyone has their way of coping with things, he of all people knows that, and Harry’s must have been keeping busy. He’d said it himself, that first morning when he made breakfast. Keeping himself occupied meant he didn’t have time to process what happened or deal with it at all.

“It wasn’t your fault, Harry,” Niall tells him firmly. “You couldn’t have prevented it.”

“But how is it fair, Niall?” Harry’s voice breaks as he meets his gaze for the first time. “How is it fair that everyone I care about is dead while I’m still here?”

“I know what you’re going through, Harry, but--”

“No, you don’t!”

“You’d be surprised,” Niall says grimly, careful not to raise his voice. “You don’t know me yet, remember?”

Harry falls silent, looking a little guilty from snapping at him.

“I need you to understand that it wasn’t your fault, okay? What happened was out of your control.”

“Does it ever stop hurting, though?” Harry interrupts, voice nothing more than a whisper. “Do you ever stop wishing it was you?”

Niall sighs shakily, glancing down at the photograph again. “Not--not entirely. But it does get better with time, Harry. It does.”

Harry’s eyes flutter shut, and when he opens them again, they’re shiny with tears. An eternity passes before he speaks.

“Can you go, please?” He whispers thickly, hand reaching up to wipe away the tears. “I just need to be alone right now.”

So Niall goes, even though his gut is screaming at him to stay, and keeps the door open when he leaves.

 

 

\---

 

 

He isn’t sure if being around more people is what Harry needs right now or if it’ll only remind him of his pack, but when he suggests meeting Liam and some others for dinner he seems to brighten up, so. People it is.

He doesn’t seem to have a problem socializing with a new pack, Niall notices. Harry’s currently sitting across the room with Louis, his sheer floral-printed shirt clinging to the lines of his body. There’s a full glass of red wine on the coffee table by his feet, the liquid inside trembling as the table shakes with Bressie’s laughter. There’s a rosy flush on his cheeks, and Niall gives him a smile when he catches him looking.

“Is he doing alright?”

Niall nods, glancing over at Liam beside him and then back to Harry. “Better. Keeping busy helps him, I think.”

“He looks better, too,” Liam observes. “He looked proper sick that first day, didn’t he?”

“Yeah.” Harry bursts out laughing at something Louis said, and Niall can’t help but grin, the laughter contagious. “He’s not bad having around, really.”

“Yeah?” He can hear the half-teasing smile in Liam’s voice.

“I’ve already forgotten what living alone was like.”

“That’s great, Nialler.” Liam squeezes his shoulder. “I’m glad he turned up. Think it’s doing you some good, too.”

“I think so,” he murmurs, grinning wider when Harry looks back at him again.

His mood dampens when Louis pulls him aside later, a sweating beer in his hand but a decidedly sober look in his eyes.

“We have an update on the Canyon pack,” he says quietly, mouth in a tight line. “I didn’t want to ruin everyone’s mood in there, but it looks like they’re sending scouts down to the northern border.”

“Shit,” Niall breathes. There’s no need for panic yet, no, but this is a bad sign. Louis isn’t one to worry easily. “How close?”

“As far as the water tower."

“Has Liam said anything?”

Louis shakes his head no. “Sending some of us up there would be too risky. We need everyone here.”

“So, what, we just let them dig deeper until they reach us?”

“What else are we supposed to do?” Louis sighs resignedly. “We don’t want to start a fight, Niall. We can’t afford it.”

“I know, but as soon as they break the border it’s all gonna go downhill and-”

“Niall?”

Louis startles, the beer in his hand slipping by a fraction as Harry emerges suddenly from the behind the corner.

“Hey, Harry,” Niall sighs, eyes flashing to Louis and back again.

Harry seems to hesitate, biting down hard on his lip. “Is it alright if we go home?”

Niall blinks at him, surprised, but nods anyways. “Yeah, of course. You good?”

“‘M fine,” Harry smiles weakly. “Just tired.”

Harry trails after him like a lost puppy as Niall hugs Laura goodbye, to the kitchen where he grabs the leftovers Liam set aside for him, back to Louis, who pretends everything is fine and dandy as he says goodbye, and finally out into the cold air, the front door slamming shut behind them.

“They started talking about my pack,” Harry murmurs, explaining himself without being asked. “Started asking me questions about the attack and all. I told them as much as I could, but I just didn’t want to talk about it anymore."

“That’s okay,” Niall soothes, a flare of anger spiking in his gut. Not directed at Harry, but at Eoghan and Laura, even Louis. They don’t have to be insensitive pricks to strangers _all_ the time. “They shouldn’t have asked in the first place. But did you have a good time?” He asks, nudging him with his elbow. “I mean, other than that. Louis didn’t give you too much shit?”

“Nah,” Harry laughs quietly, eyes fixed upwards. “He was fine. It was good.”

Niall glances over at him, the faint traces of a smile still on his face. “I’m glad.”

Seeming calmer, Harry promptly launches into an in-depth discussion of all the new recipes he’s swiped from Liam, and does Niall know if he can find chia seeds in the supermarket, and how he’s planning to go for a jog before the sun rises tomorrow morning. Niall lets him talk and talk. He reckons they both need the distraction.

 

 

\---

 

 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

Harry’s head turns amongst the mound of blankets piled around him to see Niall standing in the kitchen.

“What?”

“ _The_ _Notebook_? Again?”

“So? It’s a good movie.” Harry pouts.

It’s been two weeks, now, since Harry effectively moved in. Niall’s gotten used to his habit of wearing two layers of socks (he insists the floor is freezing), and wearing jeans so tight they might as well be painted on. He’s gotten used to cleaning up after him, even though Harry always apologizes for leaving his odds and ends around the house. Niall accidentally uses the wrong toothbrush one night and only realizes it after he’s stuck it in his mouth. Harry never says anything about it.

So even though he wouldn’t like to admit it to Liam just yet, he’s warming up to Harry much faster than he thought he would. It’s hard not to, when all he gets from him are goofy smiles and unasked for but very much appreciated grilled cheese sandwiches in the late afternoons, and notes stuck on the fridge when he goes out for a run with smiley faces all around the edge. Harry even convinces him to play cards with him one night, and Niall still isn’t sure how but it ends with Harry chasing him around the house with the king of hearts stuck down his pants. He might even call them friends.

Niall never says anything too personal about himself though, nothing about when he was first bitten or his family. And Harry never asks.

Anyways, point is, in two weeks they’ve watched _The Notebook_ at least five times. Maybe six, he’s lost count. He’s regretting owing it in the first place; Laura gave it to him as a joke for his birthday last year, and it’d been collecting a respectable layer of dust on his TV stand until Harry spotted it.

Niall walks closer, spots the mug of steaming tea clutched between Harry’s hands and the navy blue blanket in his lap. He snorts, thoroughly amused.

“ _What?_ ” Harry asks, frowning.

“You stole the blankets from my bed, too?”

“Sorry,” Harry says, though he can tell he doesn’t mean it.

“And I thought I was the one with bad circulation,” Niall grumbles, moving closer, lifting up the mass of blankets and plopping down beside Harry before he can complain about letting the cold in. “What part are we at?"

The warmth from the blankets and Harry’s freezing toes pressed against his shin--it’s all a little _too_ nice, because Niall starts getting sleepy around _if you’re a bird, I’m a bird_ and drops off when Noah and Allie break up. He didn’t always sleep this much, but after he got turned, he found himself nodding off mostly during the day and then lying wide awake at night. It’s one of the more unfortunate aspects of being half-wolf.  

He doesn’t know how long he sleeps for, only that when he wakes up the TV is off and Harry is leaning over him, eyes wide and much too close.

“ _Niall,_ ” he whispers, shaking his shoulder, and Niall closes his eyes again. His breath smells like chamomile tea. “Niall, I’m gonna get us food, what do you want? Are you hungry?”

Niall grunts, eyes still closed.

“Pizza? Does that sound good?”

He snuffles into the blanket, curling an arm around his stomach, and can’t seem to find the energy to reply. He feels Harry tugs the blanket up so it covers his shoulders, finger skimming Niall’s cheek as he does so.

“Pepperoni, then.” Harry murmurs, like they’ve agreed on it together, then pads away to get the phone. Niall opens his eyes marginally to see his retreating figure turn into the kitchen, then closes them again and falls back asleep.

When he finally comes to, it’s because the the pizza’s smell wafts in from the kitchen and he jolts awake so fast he falls off the couch. It gets a laugh out of Harry, at any rate.

“Wait, pepperoni?” Niall frowns once he gets to his feet, stumbling into the kitchen and scrubbing a hand through his hair as peers into the grease-stained box. “I thought you were vegetarian. Vegan? Pescatarian,” he hazards, and Harry rolls his eyes.

“You know I’m not any of those.” He reaches for a slice, and Niall does too, stomach grumbling embarrassingly. “I just enjoy healthy eating.”

“Healthy eating, my ass,” Niall snorts, and the two of them perch on the counter and stuff their faces with pizza in silence. 

"D'you know the nutritional value?" Harry asks suddenly. 

Niall stops chewing. "What?" 

"The nutritional value of your ass," Harry says with an amazingly straight face, swallowing his mouthful. "It's only healthy eating if it's got proportionate nutritional value, Niall." 

What seems like a full half minute of silence ensues, in which Harry's face remains unreadable and Niall tries to think of something witty to say. 

"Um," he says intelligently, and then Harry bursts out laughing so hard he spits out his pizza. Niall goes red while Harry cackles, clutching his stomach like he's made the best joke in the world. 

"Oh, shut up," Niall says, but he's grinning. Harry does as he's told, reducing his honking laughter to a cheeky smirk that stays plastered on his face while tilts his head, tearing another chunk out of his crust.

“I got a job at that bakery, by the way.”

“Really?” Niall perks up, staring pointedly at the streak of tomato sauce on Harry’s chin. “How come you didn’t tell me earlier instead of making ass jokes?”

Harry shrugs, taking the napkin Niall hands him and wiping his mouth, missing the sauce entirely. “Must have slipped my mind.”

Niall rolls his eyes. “We don’t have any celebratory champagne, unfortunately, but you can have the last slice.”

“You're too sweet,” Harry grins, already reaching for it. 

 

 

\---

 

 

The first week of December finds them freezing.

An icy chill settles over the town, leaving frost on the grass and on the rooftops and sending rain every day. It’s miserable, mostly because Niall’s shoe has a hole in the bottom that means his socks are soaking every time he comes back in the house, and his warmest coat isn’t really that warm at all.

It’s not all bad, though. Harry takes it upon himself one day to dig around in the basement and drag Niall’s mass of dusty, prickly old Christmas decorations into the living room to sort through, employing Niall’s help as soon as he comes home from work.

“Niall!” Harry beams, rushing over and enveloping him in hug. Niall has a feeling that he’s a fly, and Harry’s the spider, and there’s no escape from either this hug or whatever work Harry’s about to assign him.

He hugs him back anyways, because it's either that or stand there awkwardly for a thirty seconds, and takes a deep whiff of his scent. He smells like sugar and cinnamon and fresh bread, traces of the bakery that he’s brought home with him.

Harry pulls away and takes Niall’s face in his hands, squishing his cheeks together so that Niall looks like a pufferfish. “Niall Horan,” he says very seriously, “You are the most wonderful, amazing person I know. I am honored to be your friend. You are a blessing in this dark world. An angel come down to save us all. A--”

“Stuff it,” Niall says, wriggling out of Harry’s grip. Though he kind of wanted to see how long Harry would go on for without running out of gushy things to call him. “What is it you want me to do?”

“Untangle those--” Harry says without hesitation, points to a ball of knotted, gnarled Christmas lights-- “and those--” another one-- “and help me put the tree up. Also, you have to do the outside lights, because your ladder is very wobbly and I think it may break if I touch it.” He gives him a blinding smile, and Niall sighs, defeated, before getting to work.

But like every Christmas, things are a little painful. Bittersweet. He still remembers getting tangled up in the lights when he was small, when Bobby or Greg wasn’t looking and it taking them a solid half hour to unwrap him. Or that time Greg wanted to see if he could fit an ornament in his mouth and ending up shattering it, or how they had to keep Jake, his dog, away from the tree or else he would chew the branches and start sneezing. Still remembers going to midnight mass, his hand clutched tightly in his father’s, the way he would lift him up and hold him so Niall could sleep on his shoulder even if he was a little too big to be carried.

It’s one of the few times Niall lets himself dwell on memories like that. He doesn’t see the point in wallowing about and crying over it when it doesn’t achieve anything. Except getting other people’s pity, and hell will freeze over before Niall actively seeks _that_.

He sets to work on the lights and manages to pull them apart, and then helps Harry put up the fake, bristly Christmas tree he’d gotten for sale three years ago. He even does the lights outside, standing precariously on the top step of the ladder while Harry frets underneath him 

The thing is, Niall couldn’t buy a new ladder or a Christmas tree if he wanted to. While he inherited whatever was left after his family’s death, it wasn’t all that much, and most of it went towards buying the house three years ago. Whatever was left is keeping him afloat now alongside his two jobs.

So the house looks kind of shabby and the tree is a little crooked, and it’s nothing like what he remembers from his childhood, but it’s enough. The bubbly look on Harry’s face as he shimmies around the tree putting up ornaments, the lights glowing and holiday music playing from somewhere--it makes it worth it, and Niall doesn’t think he’s ever felt more at peace.

He and Harry leave early in the evening to meet Louis and Liam at the local pub. It seems the whole town was busy decorating, because there’s tinsel and lights strung up everywhere. Snowflake cutouts line the windows, even though it never snows here, and there’s little Santa shaped salt and pepper shakers on the sticky wooden table of the booth they settle into.

It’s good. Familiar, even though there’s a new addition to their group. Looking at him now, Niall can barely remember what it was like before that day in late October when Harry wandered into their midst. Christ, _October_. It’s barely been two months, and he can’t even imagine life without him.

The door of the pub swings open, inviting in a gust of biting wind, before slamming shut again behind a woman with blonde hair and legs for days. Their whole table stiffens for the slightest moment, picking up her strange, non-human yet non-werewolf scent, before relaxing. Faeries tend to move around a lot. This one’s probably stopping in town overnight.

Louis resumes his mostly mindless chatter, but Niall notices the way Harry’s gaze slides back to the faery as she stalks up to the bar with an interested glint in his eye. Niall can’t blame him. It’s probably been ages since he got laid, sleeping with other magical creatures isn’t unheard of, and it’s not as if this faery is hard on the eyes.

There’s plenty of reasons why it should be fine if Harry wants to go have a quickie in the bathroom or something. There’s plenty of reasons why Niall shouldn’t be alternating between watching him watch her and staring at the oblivious girl as she sips at her drink. There’s plenty of reasons, really, why he shouldn’t feel this strange thing build up in the pit of his stomach when Harry excuses himself just to sidle up to her and strike up a conversation, his eyes bright and shirt buttoned low.

He keeps his mouth shut, though. Because it’s fine. He barely knows Harry at all, so he shouldn’t feel anything about the situation at all, actually. So. It’s all fine.

“Niall?”

He rips his eyes away from where the girl is giggling at something Harry’s said, Harry’s dimple deep as he grins crookedly back at her. “What?”

Louis blinks slowly at him, eyes unreadable. “You alright?”

“I’m good.” He takes another sip of his drink, letting the bitter taste flood his mouth. “Why?”

Louis glances at Harry, clearing his throat lightly. It could mean nothing. “Just...never mind.”

Niall keeps his eyes firmly on Louis and Liam and his mind on their conversation, but that doesn’t stop his stupidly perceptive ears from hearing when Harry leans in and suggests they go somewhere more private. He wants to laugh at that. _Private._ Like a shitty toilet in the only pub in town with a line half a mile long and people banging on the door every thirty seconds is _private_.

He must be convincing though, because when Niall spares a quick glance out of the corner of his eye, they’re gone.

 

 

\---

 

 

“Hey.”

Niall feels a touch on the inside of his elbow, and he glances back to see Harry, his cheeks flushed and lips swollen. Niall’s eyes drop down to the steadily darkening bruise on his throat, and he looks away, shoving his hands in his pockets in an attempt to keep them from freezing in the frigid night air. He keeps walking. Louis and Liam are ahead of them, heads ducked together.

“Niall?”

“What?”

Harry quickens his pace so that they’re walking beside each other, shoulders brushing. “Are you angry with me?”

“No, I’m not,” Niall replies steadily. The chill is creeping inside his jacket, and he can feel the goosebumps rising on his arms.

“It seems like it,” Harry says, and he’s started shivering, teeth chattering. “Fuck, it’s cold.”

“You seemed pretty warm inside,” Niall says promptly, even though it’s stupid and maybe he should consider taping his mouth shut like Louis’ suggested so many times.

“What?”

Niall doesn’t respond, his cheeks burning.

“Niall, wait,” Harry says, grabbing his elbow and bringing them to a halt. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” he replies, avoiding his eyes. “It doesn’t mean anything. Forget I said it.”

“Are you talking about Taylor?”

Niall narrows his eyes at him, pursing his lips. “I don’t know who that is.”

“The girl inside,” Harry tells him, either everlastingly patient or just oblivious to Niall’s snark. “I--are you mad about that? I’m sorry, I just. I didn’t know it was a problem.”

“It’s not a problem.”

“Are you sure? Because--”

“It’s not a problem, Harry,” Niall repeats, softening his tone. “I promise.”

Harry studies him for a moment, and Niall realizes belatedly that Louis and Liam are far ahead, not having stopped for them. “Okay, then. If you’re sure.” Harry shivers again, wrapping his arms around himself. 

“Here,” Niall says suddenly, shrugging out of his coat and handing it to Harry. “Take it.”

“No, it’s okay, I don’t--”

“You’re freezing,” Niall points out. “I can see your nipples through your shirt.” He reaches out and twists one before Harry chance to jerk back, not able to help the smile that creeps on his face as Harry slaps his hand away and gives him a scandalized look.

“Fine,” he huffs, throwing on Niall’s coat as they start walking again. After a while, he starts staring at Niall, and even though Niall can feel his eyes practically burning a hole through his skull, he refuses to look.

“D’you wanna go for a run?” Harry asks all of a sudden.

“We’ve been drinking.”

“But I’m barely drunk. Half-drunk. Less than a quarter, probably,” Harry says in earnest, and Niall laughs. He feels pretty sober, and Harry looks pretty sober, so why the hell not?

“Yeah, alright.”  

 

 

\---

 

 

The sky is an inky black, blanketing the town in silence and darkness, and Niall can’t seem to tear his eyes away from the way the breeze ruffles Harry’s fur. There’s a stark difference between this Harry and the one that stumbled into town not so long ago, his coat sleek and soft and eyes bright as he sniffs through the roots of a huge pine tree. 

They’ve been messing about for two hours already, and the wolf is verging on the edge of exhaustion when Harry turns to him suddenly, tail brushing the undergrowth. He whines a little, but Niall doesn’t know what he means. He’s not sure if he’s supposed to.

Seemingly frustrated, Harry shifts back, his bones snapping in and out of place until he crouches, human, on the forest floor. “Can we talk?” His voice is low, hushed, as if not to disturb the trees around them.

Greg used to tell him horror stories about how the trees were secretly alive, and listened to people’s secrets. Once he grew up a bit, he realized it wasn’t true, but now, he doesn’t see why it’s not any more plausible than werewolves. At one point, he didn’t believe those existed, either. And now look at him.

Niall shifts back, blinking rapidly in an effort to get his eyes to adjust. His eyes are better than most people’s, even in the dark, but it’s still nowhere near being a wolf. The palm of his left hand begins stinging immediately, and he glances down at it. Blood trickles from a shallow cut in his hand, dripping between his fingers and down to the forest floor below. He must have stepped something sharp while running and not noticed.

“Shit,” Harry breathes, crawling over on his knees. Niall shifts uncomfortably, sitting back on his ankles. “Are you okay?” He takes Niall’s hand in his, examining it.

“I’m fine.”

Harry doesn’t pay him any attention, pulling his shirt off before Niall can get a word in. The moonlight shines off his bare skin, glowing silver, and Niall tears his gaze back down to where Harry is pressing his t-shirt to the cut in an effort to soak up the blood. He sucks in a sharp breath at the sudden pressure.

“Sorry,” Harry mutters. He glances up at him, and Niall looks up too, and-

 _Oh_.

It’s stupid, the way his breath gets snatched away when his eyes fall on him. For a moment he forgets Taylor and the pack and the cold, wet press of dirt against his legs. All he knows is Harry’s gaze boring straight into him, intent and gentle at the same time, the warmth of his hands around his, and the steady pressure on his wound.

“Are you okay?”

Niall clears his throat, lifts his head in what he hopes looks like nonchalance. “Yeah, I’m- what did you want to say?”

Harry hesitates, his cheeks going a rosy shade, though he can’t tell for certain because everything looks so washed out in the moonlight. “I was going to buy you a replacement copy of that book you dropped,” he gets out, “From the bookstore. But then I realized you wouldn’t have kept it like it was, even before it broke, if it didn’t mean something to you. And then I remembered that photo of your family, and what you said, and I…” He trails off.

“I’m sorry,” Harry murmurs, looking straight at him. “Whatever happened to them, I’m sorry.”

Without a second thought, he pats the dirt next to him in invitation, and Harry scrambles over, plopping down next to him, their backs pressed against the tree trunk. Harry pulls his bloody hand into his lap, still pressing the shirt down against it. The bark is digging into his shoulders, his spine, but he doesn’t mind. It helps him focus.

“My mom died in a car accident when I was four,” Niall starts, the familiar words trickling back into the forefront of his mind. He’s told this story so many times, but it’s never held a weight like this before. In a way, it seems a little strange that he’s only telling Harry this now.

“But I was sixteen when--when it happened. I was with my friend, at the time. It was late, and we were messing around. Doing stupid stuff.” Niall inhales deeply, trying to pry away the hands that seem to be squeezing his heart inside his chest. Most of that night is a blank in his mind, but there are certain memories, like snapshots, still embedded in there. Inescapable.  

“When I came home, my house was on fire.”

He feels Harry deflate a little next to him, his grip tightening on Niall’s hand.

“Was a gas leak, they said. Nothing I could have done. My dad, my brother--neither of them made it out alive.”

He still remembers the disbelief, the denial he’d instantly fell into when the emergency responders carried their bodies out of the house. Those burned corpses couldn’t be his family, couldn’t be the big brother he’d stolen ten dollars from the day before or the father he’d argued with just before leaving the house a few hours ago.

“My dog got out, but he was really badly injured, so they took him to a hospital, and-” He sighs, eyes slipping shut. He had a panic attack on the ride there, after insisting he had to see him. Still remembers the way he went numb, as if someone had poured ice water over him, and the way he couldn’t fucking breathe no matter how hard he tried to inhale, hold, exhale, like they were instructing him. “You know, the only reason he died was because he went in?”

Harry doesn’t say anything, but he keeps going.

“He didn’t usually stay inside the house. When the firefighters got there he was trying to get in, and they tried to hold him back but as soon as they broke down the door he just went straight inside. That’s how they found their bodies,” he sighs. “My dad’s and Greg’s. Stupid dog, that one,” He laughs weakly. “Ended up killing himself, didn’t he?”

Suddenly he’s not laughing anymore. He’s not crying, either, just. Numb. Still. Silent, like what seems like the whole forest has gone. Holding its breath, waiting for someone to break again.

“I’m glad you weren’t in the house,” Harry whispers. Niall opens his eyes.

“I wasn’t,” he admits, and the forest breathes back to life, the steady, low croak of a frog somewhere reaching his ears. He sort of wants to hunt it down and suffocate it. Only a little bit. “For a really long time.”

“Why?”

“Same reason you think you should have died with your pack.”

Harry shifts uncomfortably, leaves rustling underneath him. “So what changed?”

“I found something to live for,” Niall says quietly. “Liam. Louis.”

Harry is quiet for a while, seeming to turn over that bit of information in his head. Then all of a sudden he laces their fingers together, and the shirt is sandwiched between their hands, keeping pressure on the cut. _Smooth,_ Niall thinks to himself, and if he didn’t feel like someone had just reached in and snatched his heart out of his chest he would laugh.

“What about your family?” Niall asks absently, staring down at their hands.

“Still alive,” Harry says. “They live in Sacramento.”

Niall arches an eyebrow. “That’s a long way from here. You don’t visit?”

“I try not to.”

“How come?”

“They- I sort of ran away from home,” he mutters, and Niall’s heart clenches at the way Harry’s voice sounds. “I got turned, and I met Zayn, and I didn’t really know what I was doing. I thought it was for the best. I was still the same person, but--I knew they would see someone different, and I didn’t want to be around for that, I suppose. As far as I know, they’re still there.”

“D’you miss them?” Niall asks.

“Everyday,” Harry laughs weakly. “Every fucking day.”

“You should go back, someday.” He tightens his grip on Harry’s hand. “Before it’s too late.”

“I know,” Harry sighs and tips his head back, exhaling slowly. Niall watches the air curling from his mouth like smoke in the frigid air. “I know.”

 

\---

 

His stomach rumbles loudly the moment his foot crosses the threshold of the diner, the sound of sizzling, greasy food and the clink of cutlery against plates filling his ears. It’s Saturday morning, and Louis is sitting in the corner booth, already tucking into a plate of scrambled eggs.

He sits down on the bench opposite him, Louis’s face lighting up, his thighs sliding over the cracked red leather as he squishes up next to the window. Hazy light shines through them, spilling over the table like honey. Niall reaches over the table and snatches a piece of bacon from the plate before Louis has the chance to say anything. These Saturday morning breakfasts have been somewhat of a tradition for a while now, ever since they really settled down here.

Something about today feels different, though. Maybe it’s because he spent last night spilling his heart out to someone he’s known for two months when it took him two years to do the same with his pack. There’s just something about Harry that begs you to be honest with him. And it’s not as if Harry kept his mouth shut either, he’d shared quite a lot about his own family, his own scars. It feels good, in a way. Trusting someone like that so quickly. Scary, obviously, but good.

“So how was the heart-to-heart with Harry last night?” Louis asks, as if he’s just taken a peek into Niall’s head, and he narrowly avoids choking.

“ _Dick_ ,” Niall mutters, reaching for Louis’s water glass to wash his near-fatal hash brown down. Choking on breakfast items seems to be a trend these days. “How do you know? And it wasn’t a heart-to-heart.”  

Louis smirks, ever the little shit. “Liam told me he saw you two last night, but you didn’t notice him. Said you were sitting there talking for _hours_. And I didn’t say it was a bad thing.”

“Wasn’t _hours_.” Niall grumbles, obstinate.

Louis sighs dramatically, running a hand through his fringe and leaving it more disheveled than before. “Whatever. Unfortunately, we have more pressing problems than your love life, Nialler.”

Niall bites back a sharp reply, an acidic taste trickling into his mouth just from thinking of what Louis’s referring to. “How far have they come?” He asks, bringing up a mental image of their northernmost territory. Their pack has formed a relatively strong alliance with the nymphs in the national forest, who’ve agreed to stand as lookouts for them along the border. They’ve even recruited some faeries, though their numbers have been dwindling in recent years, and-- _right._ Taylor. Niall wonder where she is now.

“They’re at Red Bluff.”

Niall can practically feel the blood leaving his face as he registers Louis’s words. “Are you--are you serious?”

“It’s just a rumor, but,” Louis lowers voice, jaw clenching, “We think the nymphs up there were overrun. They’ve set up some kind of a camp near the river.”

“Who are we sending?” Niall presses. “I’m thinking Bressie. He’ll be enough to scare ‘em off, plus Laura...maybe me, and a nymph or two if we can spare--”

“Niall,” Louis says quietly, and he snaps his mouth shut. “You know who we have to send.”

“What?” A strange prickling feeling runs up his spine. “Who?”

The answer feels like it slaps him across the face when it comes. _Harry._ Of course. He would be able to recognize the pack, follow their patterns, sniff them out, hopefully know some of their weaknesses. And he’s less valuable than the rest of them. He’s only been with them a few short weeks, and if things go to shit, Harry’s loss wouldn’t hit as hard. And Harry’s in debt to them, isn’t he? He couldn’t say no if he wanted to.

He means to say _oh,_ but some kind of strangled noise comes out instead, a mixture of resignation and guilt.

Louis nods, an unsatisfied frown twisting his lips. He doesn’t like it any better than Niall, putting that kind of cheap value on someone’s life.

“We have to.” Louis mutters, and Niall nods, reminding himself that the pack comes before anything else. “He won’t be fighting. Just--just to see if the rumors are true.” _Like a canary in a coal mine._

Niall swallows heavily, thinks hard about what he learned in the fourth grade.

He’s pretty sure the canary dies.

 

 

\---

 

 

He walks home alone, licking the remains of Louis’s scrambled eggs from his teeth. The sky overhead is gray and misty, the perfect backdrop for his thoughts.

In all likelihood, Harry won’t get hurt. He’s not going to look for a fight, just to see if the pack really does have a camp set up on the river, and he’ll have backup if need be.

But the idea of sending Harry back into the jaws of the Canyon pack, however safe he might be, sends guilt burning over his skin. Harry might have recovered physically, but the trauma he has from losing his pack and everything familiar to him is still raw.

He decides to take a detour when he passes by the bookstore, empty as usual save for the girl on her shift behind the counter, her expression blank as she stares at something in her lap, probably her phone. The shop’s only open for a few hours on Saturdays, and Niall doesn’t work weekends, uses the time instead to join Eoghan for a border patrol or hang out with Laura in the forest to bark at squirrels. She gets quite the kick out of it.

But as he rounds the corner and hops up the rickety wooden steps, it becomes apparent that the shop isn’t empty. There’s someone standing near the back, staring at a shelf a foot above his head with his hands on his hips. _Speak of the devil._

Harry is out of place yet again, but for a different reason this time. It’s not just because of his floral-patterned shirt or the yellow bandana in his hair, it’s because against the backdrop of dusty, cracked shelves and peeling books and mud-stained carpets, he just doesn’t belong. He sticks out like a sore thumb, and Niall only realizes when he opens the door that it’s because he looks too soft.

He ambles down the aisle towards where he is, smiling when Harry’s head turns the slightest bit, clearly having picked up his scent.

“Hey, stranger,” Harry says, turning back to the books. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Yeah, well,” Niall grins, “It’s a small town.”

He looks back at Harry just fast enough to catch the faint smile that curves at his lips, the dimple in his cheek. The flyaway hairs escaping from his bandana shine golden in the soft glow of the light overhead, and suddenly Niall begins to notice everything. Things he shouldn’t be paying attention to. The faint tinge of pink on Harry’s cheeks, the line of his throat, the shape of his jaw. The wolf inside quiets for a moment, stops tugging at it’s chains, as if humbled by the work of art so close to it.

He hadn’t been able to identify why he’d been so bothered that night at the pub, watching Harry and Taylor, but he thinks he has an idea now. It’s a terrible idea.

“What,” he clears his throat, shoving his hands into his pockets, “What are you doing here?”

“What does it look like?” Harry replies, not sparing him a glance. “I’m looking for something to read.”

“I’ve got plenty of books in the house,” Niall points out, but Harry shakes his head.

“I’m more of a Virginia Woolf man, to be honest.” He pauses. “Ha. Woolf.”

Niall shoots him a strange look, and it sends Harry into a fit of giggles.

Harry, satisfied with his silly pun and the book he’s just pulled out, makes his way to the counter, but not before stopping and asking if Niall wanted to buy anything. He doesn’t, but offers to pay for Harry’s book, which Harry politely declines.

Something simmers quietly in his gut as they exit the shop, the ends of Harry’s hair blowing around in his face as the wind carries dead leaves and pages of old newspapers down the street. They walk side by side down the sidewalk, the occasional car zipping past and bringing a wave of exhaust and putrid fumes with it. Niall tries not to inhale too deeply.

“I’ve always bought my books secondhand,” Harry says suddenly, his shoulder brushing Niall’s.

“Really?” He watches his feet, how odd they look next to Harry’s. Or, rather, how odd Harry’s pristine, tasteful Chelsea boots look next to his beat up trainers.

“Yep,” Harry continues, eyes trained on the sky as if watching for rain. “Ever since I was a little kid. I just thought it was cool that, like, these books have so much history to them. Not just as in how long ago they were written, but what they’ve seen, who’s read them, why people decided it wasn’t important any longer and decided to give it away. There’s so much to learn from just the physical book itself, not just what’s inside, you know?” He glances over at Niall, who stares back at him unblinkingly. “Sorry, that probably doesn’t make any sense.”

“No, no,” Niall assures him, and the first drop of rain falls from the sky and splashes on his forehead. “It makes sense.”

“I do like the smell of a new book, though,” Harry muses, just as the sky splits open with a sudden crack of lightning and rain comes pouring down. Harry lets out a surprised yelp, much the way a dog would if you accidentally stepped on its tail, and hands his book hurriedly to Niall.

“What?” He laughs hysterically at the wide-eyed expression on Harry’s face. “What d’you want me to do with it?”

“Put it under your coat!” Harry shrieks, rain already dripping down his face. “It’s getting soaked!”

“So are you,” Niall retorts, but takes it and shoves it underneath his jacket anyways.

“So are you,” Harry echoes, and they stand there in the downpour, staring at each other, crazed smiles on their faces at the absurdity of it all. He should have heard the thunder from a mile away, should’ve smelt the rain in the air and the electricity crackling in the clouds overhead. But he didn’t, and the voice in his head snaps, _it’s because you were too busy staring at_ him.

Harry reaches out, then, and Niall loses his breath for a moment while Harry brushes the wet hair away from his eyes. It’s sticking up in all directions now, which is probably why Harry is smiling at him like that.

“We should--we should get back to the house,” Niall stammers, air finally flooding his lungs again. “Before we get sick.”  

“We both know it’s gonna take a lot more than a cold to make a wolf ill.” Harry argues, but turns on his heel anyways, continuing down the sidewalk. Niall struggles to keep up with his pace. It’s those damn legs of his.

It’s only the electricity in the air from the lightning, but Niall swears there’s a separate charge to the air as they make their way back home; one that has the hair on his arms standing up and his eyes falling back to Harry every few seconds, like he’s a magnet that Niall has no choice but to be drawn to.

Harry cuts through the front lawn and nearly cracks his skull slipping on the wet grass no less than three times, which has Niall both highly amused and concerned. They stumble inside the house without injury, eventually, dripping puddles of dirty water all over the floor as they pull their shoes off. Niall hands Harry his book back.

“Damn it,” Harry mumbles, wiping the cover off with the edge of his shirt. “It still got wet.”

“Maybe if you’d been wearing a jacket, you could’ve kept it dry yourself,” Niall replies, struggling to wrench his shoe off. “Maybe if you stopped going around with your tits out in the middle of December-”

Harry snorts suddenly, doubling over with a laugh so obnoxiously loud and high pitched it shocks the words out of Niall’s mouth. He watches him, increasingly confused, laughter bubbling in his chest even if he doesn’t know what for. “What?” He gets out finally, smiling so hard his face hurts. “What's so funny?”

“It’s a statement,” Harry protests, straightening up, his face red. “Not that you would understand.” Niall chucks his wet jacket at his face. “My tits demand freedom, Niall,” he continues, voice muffled, and Niall can’t help the beaming smile on his face that remains even when the jacket slips off Harry’s head and lands on the muddied floor.

Harry makes the both of them get rid of their wet clothes and take a hot shower as soon as possible (separately--obviously), and when Niall comes out of the bathroom, still toweling his hair dry, he finds Harry in the kitchen, something delicious-smelling simmering on the stove.

An absurd thought crosses his mind about how Harry would make the perfect 50’s housewife, and when he focuses in again Harry is staring at him bemusedly.

“What are you so smiley about, Blondie?” He asks, and Niall can feel his grin widen.

“Nothing.”

“Alrighty,” Harry hums, and Niall reaches out and sticks a finger through the hole in Harry’s shirt, wiggling it around.

“Heyyy,” Harry drawls, trying to squirm away. “That tickles.”

“It wouldn’t if you wore a shirt that didn’t have holes in it.”

“I didn’t ask you to go poking around!” Harry objects, and Niall snorts a laugh.

“Alright, alright.” He throws himself over the arm of the couch. “That’s my shirt anyways.”

“What?” Harry peers down at himself, pulling the shirt away from his body. “Oh, yeah. It was the closest thing I could grab.”

“There’s a _Friends_ rerun on,” Niall replies distractedly, slapping the remote against his thigh in an effort to get it to work. The TV flickers back on after a moment, just as Harry sidles up with two warm plates of pasta. He sits down close enough that their thighs are pressed together and Niall has to angle his elbow the right way so he doesn’t jab Harry in the chest when he eats, but it’s comfortable. Harry’s heat bleeds into his side, and he can feel his arm jump against his whenever he laughs.

But his thoughts start wandering back to the conversation he’d had that morning with Louis. Liam is grudgingly on board. The rest of the pack unanimously voted in agreement as well, during a meeting they’d patched together without him the day before, when he was busy with Harry.

He thinks about keeping his mouth shut, letting Liam propose the trip to him tomorrow or the day after. Thinks about Harry going alone, afraid.

Without thinking it through, he grabs the remote and mutes the TV.

“Hey,” Harry whines, narrowing his eyes at him. “They were just about to--”

“I figure Liam’s gonna come by and tell you tomorrow anyways, so I’ll just tell you now. It’s better that you don’t get shocked, I guess.” He heaves a big breath, ignoring the surprise and confusion clear on Harry’s face. “They’re going to send you up to Red Bluff as a scout.”

“Red Bluff,” Harry repeats slowly, his confusion beginning to melt away. “Red Bluff. Hold on, isn’t that--”

“It’s where the Canyon pack has taken up camp, yeah,” he tells him, chewing hard on his lower lip. “They’re not sending you into a fight, but they just want to see how bad the damage is--”

“Alone?” Harry blurts, voice rising. “They want me to go alone?”

“I mean, you want to get in and out of there as quickly as possible, they’re not going to send a whole group in with you--”

“But alone, Niall, I can’t do that, I’ll get caught, you don’t know what they’re like--”

“It’s not up to me.” He cuts in, voice firm. “If it was, believe me, I would never ask you to go.” Harry’s panic seems to lessen minutely, though he still looks like he’s clinging to Niall’s every word. “I can ask to go with you, if that makes you feel better.”

Harry’s response is immediate. “No.”

“What d’you mean, no?”

“I’m not putting you at risk,” he says rapidly, eyes growing ever wider. “I don’t want you coming with me if--if it’s dangerous.”

“And I won’t let you go alone _because_ it’s dangerous,” Niall argues. “I’m coming with you.” He won’t let Liam or Louis or anyone throw away Harry’s life away just like that. Even if the risk from the Canyon pack is minute, all the other factors and possibilities-- a long journey, getting caught, getting kidnapped, sidetracked, killed--they add up. And the guilt of sending Harry out is enough of a push to root him in the decision. He’s not budging on this.

"Why does it matter if I'm going?" Harry asks, and Niall pauses, confused. "I mean, why would it matter to you if I got hurt?" 

Niall blinks, something stinging underneath his skin. "Of course it would matter," he says quietly, and Harry shakes his head. 

"Less than two months ago you were ready to kill me if I looked at you the wrong way." 

"I didn't know you then," Niall says, uncomfortable heat building up in the air around them. "And I didn't hurt you."

"But would you?" 

"Would I what?" 

"Hurt me." Harry barrels on before Niall can open his mouth. "If Liam wanted you to. Or Louis."

"The fact that I want to go with you right now should be a pretty clear 'no' to that question." Niall narrows his eyes at him. "I would never hurt you, Harry. I wouldn't even think about it." 

Harry studies him for a long moment, conflict clouding his eyes, but seems to give up, letting out a loud sigh before flopping against the back of the couch. His head drops onto Niall’s shoulder as the tension dissipates, the ends of his curls tickling his neck, but Niall doesn’t move away. Harry’s breathing evens out, and then eventually rattles with light snores, his eyes shut, mouth parted in sleep. Keeping true to his knack for falling asleep anytime, anywhere. 

Niall slides both of their half-eaten dinners onto the coffee table, unmutes the TV and lowers the volume. He doesn’t know how long he watches for, or when he falls asleep, but he wakes up to a setting sky, a sore neck, and Harry snoring away in his lap with his face half-pressed into his thigh.

“H,” he murmurs groggily. “H, get up.”

“Wha?” Harry grunts, very articulately, head rising slowly before flopping back down. “Five more minutes,” he mumbles, or at least that’s what Niall thinks he says. His voice is muffled, mouth moving against Niall’s joggers. He curls a palm around Niall’s knee, grip loose with sleep, and then pats it twice. “Five minutes, Ni.”

“Harry,” he sighs, but Harry’s already drifted back off, face lax as he dreams about organic quinoa and sunrise yoga and God knows what else.

Niall edges out from underneath Harry’s head as gently as he can, limbs stiff from sleeping on the couch. The clock on the microwave tells him it’s 6:58 in the evening.

He grabs a blanket from his bedroom and tucks it over Harry before he shoves his shoes on and walks out into the crisp winter air. The fridge had been looking a little bare this morning, so he makes the short walk down to the grocery store, his collar popped up to save as much skin as possible from the cold.

It’s not quite empty when he gets in, the familiar scrape of the automatic doors reaching his ears, just a few middle aged women roaming the soup aisles and the bakery section. There’s only two supermarkets in town, and Niall works for this one part-time. The other one is considerably cheaper, but he gets an employee discount here. Plus, this one has Harry’s chia seeds.

He finds himself picking up baking chocolate and powdered sugar as well, since Harry had been moaning about not having any to use, as well as carrots and kale and celery and whatnot, all sorts of healthy shit he knows Harry will appreciate but that he has to psych himself up for before putting them in his basket. He has to wonder if he would still have such a distaste for vegetables even if he wasn’t part wolf, and how the hell Harry can _enjoy_ the stuff, let alone stomach it.

He spends about half an hour there, avoids striking up conversation with the cashier who looks like he’d rather be anywhere else than standing there talking to him, and he’s walking home, plastic bags swinging in his hands, when it happens.

He takes the shortest route home, which means cutting through a few back alleys, but he’s not especially concerned. He’s a werewolf, after all. He’s a little distracted thinking about how happy Harry’s gonna be when he sees all the food he’s got, and a little more distracted thinking about the forces pushing in on their borders and just how far they’ll go before really breaking in on them.

So while he’s certainly not expecting to find a handful of vampires huddled over a woman’s body at the end of the alley, that’s exactly what he finds.

His heart gives a heavy lurch, kicking into overdrive, and he can feel his own canines drop down subconsciously. It takes him by surprise, is the thing, more than usual, like vampires always do. It's because you can't smell them. There's nothing to smell, no hint of anything except their victim's blood.

The vampires, otherwise occupied, haven’t noticed him yet. He white-knuckles his grocery bags, jaw clenching in shock and disgust. His ears strain as he searches for a heartbeat, something, anything-- _there._ It’s faint, but it’s there.

“Hey!” Niall yells, dropping his bags. The vampires--there’s three of them--whirl around, canines sticking out over their lower lip, dripping scarlet onto the grimy concrete below. Their skin is pale, figures gaunt. They’re hungry, and desperate. If they can get their hands on him, he knows they wouldn’t have any qualms about drinking werewolf blood either.

“Get away from her!”

One of them snarls something in a language foreign to Niall’s ears, his accent thick and strange. The vampires beside him turn to face him, the woman’s body lying forgotten behind them.

So Niall shifts, pushing his fear far, far down, trying to feel invincible in wolf’s fur. Identical grins spread across the bloodsuckers’ faces, and he can’t help the shiver that runs down his spine.

“You’re outnumbered, fleabag,” another vampire calls, and Niall gives himself three seconds to reconsider before he charges, head ducked low, paws pounding against the ground till he’s close enough to throw himself bodily at the nearest undead creature.

Both of them go flying into the dumpster behind, and the vampire’s spine cracks sharply. He sinks his claws in anyways, because although he wasn’t able to get a good look, the glimpses he gets of the girl’s body between the remaining two isn’t a good one. She’s barely clinging to life by the looks of it.

A heavy weight lands on his back. He’s crushed into the vampire below him, and his legs tremble as he throws the second off, a growl rattling around in his ribcage. The second vampire launches itself at him, and digs its dirty nails into the meat of his shoulder before they tumble down the alley. He flips himself right side up, finding shaky footing, the adrenaline pumping through his blood making everything blur. His knee hurts so badly the pain nearly blinds him.

He can feel himself getting a little hysterical, and whatever rational side of him remaining is screaming at him to run because he's fucking outnumbered and these vampires are literally going to tear his head off if he's not careful. 

Behind him, the girl lets out a wheezing cough, and the weak, pitiful noise she makes afterwards suddenly spurs him on. When the vampire to his left starts in on him, he lashes out twice as hard as before, scraping his claws down pale skin and almost retching at the sight of stolen blood blooming in their wake. After that, it’s easy enough to rip its throat out, even if the sight and sound and smell makes him want to boil himself alive for the next century until he can be sure he’s clean.

When he turns around, he knows he looks a formidable sight: soaked to the skin with blood, a blazing fire in his eyes, teeth bared. He doesn’t feel formidable. He just feels dirty. 

He pushes his conscious to the side when he finishes the job, barely even registers the crack of bones underneath his paws or the taste of someone else’s blood washing over his tongue when he sinks his teeth into the final vampire. It’s like he’s a bystander, just someone else watching this ball of teeth and fur take down an undead creature so viciously that when the vampire stops moving, there’s barely anything left to _stop_ moving.

He only comes back into himself when he shifts back to human, and realizing that makes him feel like he's standing on the edge of a cliff with the rock is crumbling underneath his feet. He lost himself--his _humanity_ \--for a moment, even if it was to kill a couple of scummy vampires. It terrifies him.

Niall finds the girls’ pulse manually this time, doesn’t want any part of the wolf touching someone so innocent. When he feels it, he scoops her into his arms, legs trembling as he gets to his feet. There’s blood everywhere, on his clothes, his hands, her skin. She can’t be more than 19 or 20, around Niall’s age. Her hair is tangled, long, some of it in her eyes, but Niall doesn’t have time to brush it away from her face. She’s running out of time.

He sets off for Perrie’s house at a full out sprint, relying on whatever energy stores the wolf can spare to keep him from collapsing. It’s late now, darkness already fallen over the town, and he’s guided by nothing but the streetlights, shadows flickering in and out of his vision as he darts between patches of yellow light.

His body is burning, blood and sweat dripping down his skin, but he doesn’t stop, doesn’t even consider it. He can’t let the girl in his arms die. He won’t have that guilt on his conscience. Won’t let someone be taken away like this. And he knows that if he starts wondering about how she got dragged into that alley, how the vampires took her down, he’ll either break down or get raging mad and need to punch something, so he just. Doesn’t. Doesn't think about anything at all. 

He finally reaches her house after what seems like too long, bounding up the wooden steps and nearly tripping on the last one.

“Perrie,” he shouts, voice raw as he bangs on the door. He can feel the shimmering undertones of her magic surrounding him, on the doormat and streaks of it on the window and in the potted plants lining the sill, but he can’t tell if she’s here or not. “Perrie!” _Please, please be here._ She’s the only one that can save this girl, the only one that has the power to heal her.

His prayers are answered in the form of a familiar blonde woman flinging the door open so hard it slams against the wall, hands already reaching for the girl. “Fucking hell,” Perrie mutters under her breath, eyes flitting over her body, catching on the bloodstains. “Upstairs. Let’s go.”

Niall hovers behind her, his adrenaline finally beginning to peter out and allowing the pain to take over. It feels like his body is just one massive bruise, littered with cuts and gashes and stained with vampire, werewolf, and human blood alike.

He slows at the foot of the stairs, his vision blurring. He watches Perrie’s retreating back going up the stairs, the girl’s head lolling in her arms. He barely makes it to the bathroom across the hall before throwing up, gripping the edge of the toilet and trying valiantly not to think about the bloodied vampire remains that were strewn over the concrete as he walked away.

After he’s finished emptying his stomach, he leans back, sitting on his ankles. The room seems to be pressing in on him. The lights are so fucking bright, blinding him, burning his eyes. In a last ditch effort to stave off his dizziness, he squeezes the edge of the counter so hard his knuckles go white and tries to focus on his breathing. It doesn’t work, because of course it doesn’t, and the next thing he knows everything goes dark.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorry this was posted a day late, i had a lot of homework to do and my computer's been giving me a lot of shit lately :(


	3. Chapter 3

_**cadere**_. Latin, meaning: to fall. 

 

(x)

 

When he wakes up, it’s still night outside. Perrie is leaning over him, her blue eyes glowing even in the dim light and the tips of her bleached hair hanging in his face.

“Niall?” She whispers, tone wary, and he groans like a dying cow. He swipes his dry, sandpapery tongue around his mouth, cringing at the acidic taste of his own vomit still there. 

“Water?” He mumbles faintly, and Perrie disappears out of his range of vision.

“Hold on, I’ve got something better,” she says, coming back into view with a glass in her hand. “Do you need me to help?”

He nods. “Hurts,” he says in a voice too whiny for his own liking as Perrie tilts his head up. She holds him still, palm warm at the back of his skull as she brings the glass to his lips. He doesn’t know what the liquid is, but it’s syrupy warm and as sickeningly sweet as honey. Must be an herbal something or other Perrie threw together, and it certainly works, because it barely takes a second for it to kick in. His muscles relax instantly, all the weariness seeping out of him, and the dull throbbing behind his eyes lessens.

Perrie stays with him, patiently lifting the glass to his mouth every few seconds. He doesn’t know how long it takes, but at some point he stops drinking and she sets to work on his more superficial injuries; the cut on his collarbone and the gash running the length of his thigh that he hadn’t fully noticed before.

Her fingertips are icy cold against his skin as she mutters spells under her breath, the skin and flesh knitting itself back together under her touch. Niall talks as she works, telling her about how he found the girl, how he killed the vampires, asking if she’s alright now.

She is. Perrie plans on wiping that bit of her memory once she’s healed and just plopping her back at the grocery store, but it’ll take a while. Blood restoration can take days, sometimes weeks.  

His clothes are still dirty and bloodstained, but Niall throws his shirt on anyways once she’s finished. Perrie shows him upstairs, careful to avoid the steps that creak, and leads him to where the girl is laying on a bed, her hair splayed around her as she snores softly. The dirt and blood covering her skin is gone, and her eyelids flutter in sleep, mouth parted slightly. She looks the image of peace, a stark difference from the broken body Niall carried here only an hour ago.

“Her name’s Parker,” Perrie says quietly from behind him. “I found her ID in her wallet.”

“Parker,” Niall repeats, tilting his head to see Perrie out of the corner of his eye. “You’re sure she’ll be okay?”

“Yeah,” she exhales slowly, running a hand through her hair. “She'll be alright. Thanks to you.”

Niall makes his way down the front hallway a minute later, pausing at the door to shove his shoes on. The overwhelming scent of lavender swirls around the threshold, meant to keep some kind of evil spirits out, and he thinks idly about all the times he’s knelt here doing the same thing, his hands struggling to stay steady as he does up his laces.

Perrie’s house was built on top of the ashes of his childhood home, barely three or four years after the fire. It’s a strange feeling, to be right back home and yet not. By a strange coincidence, or whatever you’d like to call it, Perrie was the one who found his body in the forest after he was bitten. She was the one who brought him to the pack, to Liam. Saved his life.

“You should stay,” Perrie says behind him, frowning. “Take a bath or something. You stink.”

Niall bites back a teasing reply and shakes his head instead. “I have to get home,” he explains, standing up. “Harry’ll be worried about me.”

“Harry,” Perrie hums, a faint smile on her lips as she feigns curiosity. “He’s the new one, isn’t he? The one whose pack was killed.”

Niall barely restrains himself from rolling his eyes. He knows Perrie’s just fishing for information. She already knows exactly who Harry is. “That’s him.”

“He takes good care of you, doesn't he,” she says lightly, and Niall can feel a tinge of heat on his cheeks. “I like him.”

“I’ll bring him around sometime,” he promises, hand on the doorknob. “Then you can meet him.”

“Sounds perfect.”

Niall leans in to plant a kiss on her cheek, and then he’s slipping out the door, hurrying down the front walk into the night.

He takes a small detour on the way home. The grocery bags are untouched. He doesn’t bother looking down the alley for the vampires, knows they’ll have turned to ash by now, just grabs the bags and stumbles on home as fast as he can.

He fumbles with the doorknob for only twenty seconds before the door flies open, revealing Harry standing on the other side, hands on his hips, a deep frown on his face. All that quickly melts away, though, when he sees the blood.

“Oh my god,” Harry blurts. He looks so fucking flabbergasted Niall would laugh if he didn’t think the movement would break his ribs or something. “Oh my god, Niall.”

“Here you go,” Niall says lamely, thrusting the plastic bags in Harry’s face for lack of anything better to do. “Got that leaf stuff you wanted. Rutabaga, was it? And the chocolate.”

“What the fuck?” Harry looks from him, to the bags, and back up. “What happened?”

“Erm,” he hesitates, squinting as if he’s not quite sure either. “Long story.”

“You’re hurt,” Harry says suddenly, eyes bugging, reaching out and tracing the top of Niall’s shoulder. His fingertips come back bloody. “You’re bleeding.”

“It’s not my blood,” Niall says quickly, then thinks better of it. “Well, some of it, probably. There were these vampires, see. So not all of it. I’m not hurt. I mean, I was, but then Perrie--"

Harry takes his arm and promptly drags him into the house, locking the door behind him and bustling him into the kitchen, taking the bags from him and pushing him in front of him with a hand at the small of his back as if afraid Niall might pass out right then and there.

“It’s really not that big of a deal, Haz, I promise,” he babbles. Whatever Perrie gave him is making him a tad incoherent. “See, I got you a bunch of that green thing you like.”

“Why didn’t you get Liam?” Harry demands, an even mix of anger and worry in his eyes. “Or me? You could’ve died, Niall!”

“I didn’t think of it,” he answers, but it sounds stupid even to his own ears. He knows part of it was that he barely had time, didn’t even think before throwing himself in, but a dumber side of him just wanted to prove himself. That he could handle himself, unlike all those weeks ago, when he wasn’t able to defend himself or his pack and came out on the other side with a busted knee to show for it. “I’m sorry."

Harry sighs shakily, leaning back against the fridge. “I was so fucking worried. I woke up alone and you didn’t tell me where you were going, and then you weren’t answering your phone, and it’s so late, Niall, I thought you--” He sighs again, deep worry lines creasing his forehead. Niall stares at them, wonders if he could stick something in between them and have it hold. “You could’ve died.”

“I’m really sorry, H,” he says, eyes dropping down to meet Harry's.

Harry straightens up and walks towards him, takes his face in his hands. “Don’t ever do that again,” he whispers, and Niall nods. Harry brushes the hair away from his forehead, eyebrows knit together in a frown as he studies his face. “You need to take a shower. You smell.”

“That’s what Perrie said,” he mutters, huffing out a laugh and getting to his feet.

“Perrie?” Harry asks confusedly, hovering close behind as Niall stumbles down the hallway to the bathroom. “Who’s that?”

Harry insists on staying outside the bathroom door the entire time and keeping it unlocked in case Niall blacks out or something. He stands there silently while Niall scrubs at his skin so hard he comes out of the shower pink and steaming, muscles still aching.

He pauses on his way out of the bathroom to glance at his reflection in the mirror. The man--boy, feels like--staring back at him looks as pale and skinny as usual, though there’s a few new scars littering his skin. He’s due for another dye job, and there’s dark shadows under his eyes, but there’s something off about him today. Wilder. Hungrier.

He’s heard stories of werewolves that ended up losing themselves completely to their animal side, slaves to nothing but the need to kill, to hunt. Being himself is a balancing act in a way it wasn’t before, and he can feel the scale tipping. Only barely, but tipping all the same.

“Niall?” Harry asks loudly, knocking on the door. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” he calls back, and shakes himself out of his stupor, toweling himself off quickly and running a hand through his dripping hair. He steps out, steam still curling off his skin, and Harry leans back against the wall, eyes studying his body almost unashamedly. It sends a flare of embarrassed heat in his gut, and he wishes he had on more than just the towel wrapped around his waist, if only to cover up the blush he knows is spreading across his chest.

“I’ll have dinner ready in a bit,” Harry says, clearing his throat. “You’d, uh. Better get dressed.”

Niall tells him the finer details of what happens over dinner. He leaves out the gory bits, but Harry’s eyes pop out of his head all the same when he learns there were _three_ vampires, and that Niall, like a ‘goddamn idiot’, took on all of them. He tells him about Perrie, who’s ‘some kind of witch, not sure exactly,’ and how she can heal people in the blink of an eye. He doesn’t tell him that he blacked out or threw up, or that he lost all semblance of control when it came to the very last vampire. Harry’s worried about him as it is.

He crashes in Harry’s room that night. Something about the prospect of lying awake in his own, cold bed for hours doesn’t seem too appealing. Part of it’s also that he needs to cling on to his human side now more than ever, and listening to Harry babble about how stupid he was to pick up the groceries on the way back home seems the best way to ground himself. To hold on for a little longer.

 

 

\---

 

 

_His heart’s gonna explode. He’s running faster than he’s ever run before, his legs are screaming and his lungs are burning and his heart is really gonna fucking explode at this rate._

_He spares a glance backwards. He can still see the blue and red lights flashing through the trees, the flashlights, the blaring sirens. Going to this party seemed easy enough, seemed simple. It was good. Everything was good until some idiot called the cops and everyone had to scatter. A couple other people headed for the woods too, but he lost them and now he’s just running into the middle of the forest with no sense of direction or time or anything._

_He can’t get in trouble for this. He can’t. What he’s going to do, is he’s going to wait it out, and then run home and jump into bed and wake up in the morning fine. Linda and Paul will never hear a thing, never be the wiser. Combined, their snores could probably drown out an avalanche. He’s safe._

_He stops running after who knows how long, collapses against the nearest tree trunk, the muddy earth cool against his overheated skin as he sinks to the forest floor to catch his breath. He shuts his eyes, tries to calm down, tries to breathe right again._

_When he opens his eyes, it’s to find another pair staring right back at him._

_Niall lets out a strangled yell, his heart lurching into his throat. He’s completely frozen in fear when the thing steps closer into the sliver of moonlight that breaks through the trees, and that’s when he recognizes it as a wolf._

_A great, big, shaggy wolf with glowing yellow eyes and saliva dripping from its fangs._

_The wolf takes another step closer and Niall plasters himself to the tree trunk, his chest heaving with each breath._

_“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god--”_

_The wolf lunges for him, and_

Niall’s eyes snap open.

The room is pitch black, the curtains billowing gently in the breeze that blows through the open window. He squeezes his eyes shut, heart still pounding, trying not to think about the wolf sinking his teeth into his shoulder or the excruciating pain that rocked through his entire body. His thoughts wander towards something equally as painful--just hours after the attack, when Perrie had to wipe his foster parents' memories, erasing him out of their lives.

 _It’s easier_ , she’d said, while he tried to hold the last parts of his dignity together in a room full of strangers staring at him. _It’s better this way._

He doesn’t blame her, knows she was right. He knows he’s spared a lot of people a lot of trouble by keeping his mouth shut whenever he sees Linda or Paul in the supermarket or on the street. Letting them forget him was easier than them knowing he was a monster.

He snakes a hand up to pat at his chest, exhaling slowly when he feels his heartbeat. He doesn’t know why he does that all the time, only that it calms him down. _As if being alive is any sort of comfort._

Goosebumps start spreading down his skin with the cold, so he grabs for the blanket and tugs it over himself, only to have his heart stop when it tugs _back_. Something moves beside him--a familiar mop of dark hair poking up from the pillow beside him--and he remembers, relief seeping through his skin.

“Niall?” Harry’s voice is a lot deeper and rougher than normal, blurred with sleep. “You alright?”

That’s debatable. He should be used to it by now, but almost every night he wakes up terrified for his life and occasionally screaming. Not tonight, thank God. Harry would probably have had a heart attack.

“I’m okay,” he sighs, wrestling the blankets back over his body. “Go back to sleep, Harry.”

“What happened?” Harry says, as if Niall hadn’t spoken at all. He settles his hand on Niall’s bare shoulder, palm warm against his skin.

“Just a bad dream,” Niall tells him. Harry frowns.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

Niall hesitates. Harry already knows this much about him. _Why not?_ “I mean, I’ve been having the same dream since I was eighteen,” he starts, and Harry nods, prompting him to go on. The moonlight and the shadows dance on the planes of his face, and suddenly Harry looks older than he’s ever seen him. “I kind of relive the night I was turned."

Harry winces, squeezing his shoulder. “That’s awful.”

“Does it happen to you, too?” Niall asks, a little disappointed when Harry shakes his head. He’s never met anyone whose turning affected them so severely, and it makes him feel weak. Fragile.

Harry seems to read his mind. “Trauma affects everyone differently,” he shrugs, like it’s that simple. “You’re one of the strongest people I’ve ever met, Niall.”

At that moment, he’s not sure the darkness is enough of a shroud for the fiery blush that spreads across his cheeks. “That’s definitely not true,” he mutters, squirming a little under the sheets.

“It is,” Harry laughs, his voice too loud in the darkness. “You’ve been through so much, and you’re still…” he trails off, and Niall feels something warm in his chest.

“Still what?”

Harry reaches up and pats his cheek twice, as if that’s an answer, and then sighs heavily, pulling the sheets up further over his bare chest. Niall’s eyes fall to the bird tattoos, the ink in stark contrast to the washed out tone of Harry’s skin under the moonlight. And Harry’s been shirtless plenty of times before, always comes out of the shower dripping wet and the towel around his waist barely holding on, but he’s never fully noticed the bite mark on his shoulder. It’s faint pink now, but the jagged edges of the marred, healed skin are still prominent. He lets himself reach out and trace the edge of it, not missing the sudden stutter in Harry’s breath.

Niall moves closer, like he’s caught in his magnetic field and can’t help but stick to him. Like he’ll die if he’s not touching him somehow. Harry looks like he’s holding his breath, and Niall is too, suddenly.

The wolf inside turns so, so quiet, so silent that he has to double-check to make sure it’s still there, but there’s something different that’s about to burst at the seams inside him.

“Niall?” Harry breathes, sounding choked out.

He glances back up at Harry, then at his lips, lifting his eyebrows in question.

He’s not sure who moves first, but the next thing he knows Harry’s lips are on his and he’s kissing him like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do. His senses seem to ramp immediately into overdrive, and he soaks in all the little noises Harry makes, the way he tastes, how cold his rings feel against his skin. Harry’s lips are warm and soft against his, and he wants to stay here forever, licking into Harry’s mouth and running his hands down his skin. There’s a frantic energy in his body, and it feels like a storm breaking, like a wave crashing over the both of them, taking them under.

Every last worry and warning flies out of Niall’s mind when Harry shifts on top of him, caging his arms around Niall’s head and letting his body weight settle down on him. Niall’s hands are practically shaking at his point, because Harry’s all over him, all muscle and limbs and dark eyes and he’s wanted this for so, so long. He licks into the heat of Harry’s mouth, swallowing up the moan he lets out.

Harry pulls away with a blissed out look in his eyes. Then he dips lower, mouthing lazily at Niall’s throat, curls brushing his face, and he feels a familiar heat grow in his gut as Harry sets his teeth in hard enough to leave a bruise. He sinks even lower, making his way leisurely down Niall’s body, pausing every now and then like they’ve got all the time in the world. He’s too slow, too teasing, and he knows it.

“Harry,” Niall groans, bucking his hips restlessly, searching in vain for any kind of friction. Harry stops biting at his hip and crawls back up his body until his head looms over him, an impish grin on his face.

“You called?”

“Twat,” Niall replies, pinching at his hips, though his breathing’s gone all wonky and he’s painfully hard. “Such a fucking tease.”

“You love it,” Harry smirks, but the words barely leave his mouth before Niall pushes him over and rolls on top, his knee twinging. “Wha-”

“Wanna suck you off,” he mutters, slips his fingers into the waistband of Harry’s pants, and Harry lifts his hips, sweat glistening on his throat. He pauses after he pulls them down, glancing back up at Harry. “Is that okay?”

“Yeah, fuck, yeah,” Harry blabbers, and Niall doesn’t waste any time. The second he gets his mouth around his cock Harry sucks a sharp breath in and throws his head back against the pillow like a fucking porn star, eyes squeezed shut. _King of dramatics,_ Niall thinks, even though the sight has him throbbing.

“Shit,” Harry pants, and Niall takes him in deeper, eyes watering. He doesn’t have the best gag reflex, so he gets his hand around whatever won’t fit in his mouth, running his calloused fingertips over the base of Harry’s cock.

“Niall, fuck,” Harry winds a hand through his hair, thumb brushing the edge of his cheek as he looks down at him, eyes wide in the pale moonlight. “God, you look so good.”

Niall feels himself flush, his dick twitching unbidden between his legs at the praise. He pulls off to suck at the tip, Harry groaning above him, then sinks back down, and it doesn’t take much more than that. Niall tongues at the slit of his cock experimentally, and then Harry’s coming without warning, his hips twitching up under Niall’s grip, shooting off inside his mouth.

“Jesus, Haz,” Niall coughs, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, swallowing the load reflexively. He sees Harry’s eyes track the movement, the way his pupils are blown wide, and Niall feels the way he looks: hair sticking every which way, red and sweaty, chest heaving like he’s just run a thirty miles.

“C’mere,” Harry mutters, sitting up, and Niall crawls up beside him. Harry pushes at his shoulder until he flops back down on the bed, and he feels like he’s on fire with the way Harry’s looking at him, eyes dark and almost predatory. “Wanna return the favor,” Harry mutters, and then his hand is wrapped around Niall’s cock and all his thought processes evaporate.

For a minute, there’s nothing but him and Harry, the sheets tangled around his feet, the moonlight spilling over their bodies, Harry kissing him while simultaneously trying to catch his breath like he needs Niall as much as he needs air. Harry’s so good, is the thing, knows just what he needs, spreading his wetness down the length of his cock and squeezing slightly on the upstroke.

Harry wanks him until he comes embarassingly quickly and messily over his fingers, and Niall lets his head drop down on his shoulder while his heart pounds on in his chest, so loud he’s certain Harry can hear it. There’s a buzzing in his blood, something electric, and he’s exhausted but somehow he’s never felt more awake in his life.

“Wait here,” Harry whispers after a while, like Niall could go anywhere with his whole body feeling like a lump of jelly, and then he kisses him one more time before slipping off the bed and padding out of the room.

Harry cleans the both of them up when he gets back with a damp flannel in hand, and they throw the sheets over the messy spot on the bed and tangle themselves together again.

Niall fits a hand on Harry’s bicep, tracing the _A_ just above it with his thumb. His skin is still warm and flushed, and Harry watches him hazily.

“Are we gonna talk about it?” Niall whispers after a while. Harry just blinks sleepily at him.

“Talk about what?”

“Dunno,” Niall mumbles, and Harry’s brows knit together in the beginning of a frown.

“We’re good, right? This is good?” He asks, and Niall understands the note of worry in his voice.  

“Better than good,” he assures him. Some weird part of him wishes he had a camera with him, wishes he could capture the slow, sleepy smile that Harry gives him then.

“Was it the best handjob you’ve ever had?” Harry asks, unfailingly characteristic, and Niall rolls his eyes.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Styles.”

“It was a genuine question.”

“Fine. Top three.”

Harry pouts like Niall’s offended his mother or something. “We’ll have to work on that,” he mutters, almost to himself, a devilish shine to his eyes.

And, yeah. Niall’s definitely looking forward to working on that.

 

 

\---

 

 

 

The next day, Liam scolds him for a solid half hour without even pausing for breath. He rants about how Niall will get himself killed trying to help people, and when Niall snips back that that’s what Liam does too, he levels him with a glare so fiery he feels like he’s just a little kid arguing with his dad again.

Harry and Louis are there too, watching hesitantly from the other side of the booth in the diner. There’s a pink flush crawling steadily up Harry’s throat as he watches them argue, Niall doesn’t know what for, but he does know he wants to shove him into the nearest dark corner and see if he tastes just as good as he looks.

 _Probably better,_ he thinks. He’s been itching to get his hands on him and drag them both home, now that there’s a whole load of possibilities opened up to them. He doesn’t have to shove his growing attraction down anymore, and it’s a relief.

He’s thinking about ways to give Louis and Liam the slip when suddenly, Liam’s snapping his fingers in front of Niall’s face, eyes round. “Earth to Niall?”

“Sorry,” he coughs, avoiding Harry’s eyes. Neither Louis nor Liam know about him and Harry, and judging by what Harry said last night, it wasn’t just a one-off, but he doesn’t think right now’s the best time. Maybe he should bake a cake. _I’m shagging Harry!_ in bright pink frosting. “Look, I saved someone’s life, Liam. I did the right thing.”

“But you put your own on the line,” Liam points out, and Niall sighs, head thudding back against the back of the bench.

“Look, I didn’t have time to get you, alright? I just saw her--and them--and I went in without thinking. I’m sorry.”

Their waitress sidles up and sets Louis’ plate of pancakes onto the table, and Liam only resumes talking when she’s left.

“It’s okay, just--don’t ever do that again,” he tells him, and Niall nods. Harry’s foot finds his underneath the table, kicks at him lightly, and he has to fight a smile from creeping on his face. “We worry about you, Nialler.”

“I know.” He turns and meets Liam’s warm gaze, reminded of all the times he’s said that before. Which is a lot, because he always does it after Niall does something stupid and brash without thinking. Which, coincidentally, is also a lot.

Louis clears his throat across the table. “Actually, it’s good Harry’s here, because we have something to, er, propose.”

Niall narrows his eyes at him, fingers twitching in his lap. “He already knows.”

“You told him?” Liam frowns, and Niall nods.

“Is that a problem?” He knows he’s being a tad snippy, but the fatigue from yesterday has finally set in and has him dead on his arse. He doesn’t have the patience.

“No, it saves time, actually--”

“Also, I’ll be going with him.” He blurts, and the entire table goes silent.

Louis stares. “What?”

“I said, I’ll be going with him. That way you can keep the nymphs where they are, manning the border. They’re more help staying where they are than I am.”

Louis’ attention shifts immediately to Harry, eyes hard. “Did you ask him to go with you? Because--”

“He didn’t,” Niall cuts in, feels Liam stiffen up beside him.

“You’re injured, Niall, I don’t think it’s the best idea for you to be going out and about right now.”

“I’m completely fine and you know it.”

 _You know why we need to send Harry,_ Louis bristles in his head, his mouth curving into a frown.

 _Because he’s not as valuable as the rest of us?_ Niall snaps. _That’s bullshit. I’m not letting him go alone._

Liam cuts in. _You’re the second-in-command, Niall. You need to be here._

 _We all know Louis should have been beta anyways,_ Niall replies, and it’s true. _He can fill in for me while I’m gone._ _  
_

“Should I leave?” Harry says suddenly, and Niall jumps a little. “Sorry.

“No, it’s fine,” he says, holding Louis’s gaze. “It’s settled.”

Niall can feel the anger practically rolling off Louis’ skin in waves. In a last ditch effort to save his skin, he slides out of his seat, and Harry does the same.

“Let me know when you want us to leave for Red Bluff,” he says, Harry brushing his arm as he comes to stand next to him.

Liam reaches out and squeezes his hand, once, a frown still on his face. Niall knows he’s not happy about it, but he also knows he’s not gonna stand in his way. “Will do.”

“Niall,” Harry says once they’re outside, the rain drizzling down, “You don’t have to go against Liam’s orders for me. I wouldn’t make you do that.”

“There are no orders,” he scoffs, still ruffled from his nonverbal argument with them. He doesn’t like getting into fights with his packmates. Not serious ones. He doesn’t know if it’s his attachment to them or the wolf’s, but it makes him uneasy all the same.

Something clicks into his head then, that maybe he’s overstepped. “Unless, you, like.” He clears his throat. “Don’t want me to come.”

Harry’s grip tightens. “I do want you.”

“Then it’s fine,” he says, flushing a delicate pink at Harry’s wording despite himself. “They’ll come around. Besides, I really am more useful out there with you than I am here.”

Harry hums lightly under his breath, and Niall allows himself one more quick glance over at him before shoving his hands in his pockets and keeping his eyes resolutely on the ground the rest of the way home.

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

_**credo**_. Latin, meaning: to believe, to trust, to rely on.

 

(x)

 

Liam, unsurprisingly, ends up being the one he tells about him and Harry. He doesn’t really mean to, it just sort of. Slips out, when they’re sitting on the floor in his living room the day after their fight (if they can even call it that) playing Call of Duty with a bunch of empty Red Bull cans scattered around them like they’re sixteen years old again. 

“Me and Harry,” he starts. 

“Are shagging?” 

Niall barely even has time to react before a strangled yell sounds from the kitchen. It’s a testament to how well he and Liam know Louis and his variety of overdramatic shrieks that they don’t even bother straining their necks to see if everything’s alright. He knows Harry’s in there, was determined to get Louis to try kale even if he had to force feed him. Judging by the horrified scream, that’s exactly what happened. He can hear Harry’s hushed cursing, muttering something about  _ one of the nine superfoods  _ and  _ excellent for your health  _ and  _ fuck! stop pretending to vomit!  _

Niall’s face, meanwhile, has turned a spectacular shade of red. “How the hell did you know?” He demands, and Liam’s face splits in a triumphant beam, his eyes crinkling up. 

“I didn’t, but thanks for telling me.” 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Niall groans, frowning at Liam’s laughter. “You’ve been spending too much time with Louis.” 

“I do live with the man.”

“Are you shagging as well then?” 

Louis’s indignant  _ hey  _ reaches their ears from twenty feet away, sending them both into another fit of laughter. 

Two nights and a day pass uneventfully, other than for the fact that Harry’s mopier than usual. He always gets quiet around the evenings, always sighs out a quiet ‘no’ if Niall asks if he wants to talk about it, but. He’s probably just preoccupied. They all are. 

Their pack is by no means small, or weak. They’ve held their ground for years, fought off other groups, managed to keep their home. But this threat is different, and they all know it. Feels like they’re fighting a losing battle, and it hasn’t even begun. 

He and Harry leave for Red Bluff early in the morning, when the wind is sharp enough to leave Harry’s cheeks red and his hair all over the place. He knows Liam is nervous about him going, about him not being able to contact him--telepathically, at least--but Niall assures him he’ll stay in touch, keep him updated. He waves his phone around a lot until Liam seems to relax. Louis gives them his rusty old sedan, a warning not to do any funny business inside the car (read: sex), and they set off down Interstate 36, trees blurring past the windows as they speed along. 

It’s one of the more scenic highways near them, passing by volcanoes and national forests and the like. Living up here in the middle of Nowhere, California, isn’t too bad when thousands of miles of uninhabited woodland is exactly what you need. It’s not as if it’s an eyesore, either; Niall’s grown up here his whole life, and he can’t even imagine what life outside of their sleepy, fog-filled town would be like. Doesn’t want to, if he’s honest. 

He bans Harry from manning the radio about ten minutes into the drive. He kept turning to weird indie pop stations, and then halfway through the song, switching it to country or rock or orchestra. Niall felt like his head was about to explode, so he snapped that Harry could choose any station he wanted as long as he stopped changing it after that. 

(“ _ Anything? _ ” Harry grinned, and Niall was unfortunately too preoccupied keeping his eyes on the road to see the wicked glint in his eye.)

So now they’re sitting silently, Niall growing redder in the face by the minute as they listen to some punk band screech at them through the airwaves, because he’s a man of his word even if it makes him want to smack Harry over the head until he apologizes for making the both of them suffer.

Harry, who seems transfixed by the swaths of lush green forest just outside their window, the steep cut of rock just past the guardrail as it spears downwards and disappears under the treetops. Niall’s too busy trying not to fly off the edge of the cliff to look over, but he knows the river’s probably shimmering silver as it winds through the landscape, blinding in the lukewarm afternoon sun. 

And as for him, well. He’s trying his best to ignore the suddenly hollow space in his mind, where his connection with Liam and Louis and the rest of the pack is fading as the minutes tick by, as they move steadily out of reach. He can no longer tell where any of them are. It doesn’t sit right with him, won’t let up, so to his word, he hands his phone to Harry and has him fire off a quick update text to Liam as they peel off down another exit, and he convinces himself they’ll be alright. It’s only a couple days, anyways. He’ll be home before he knows it. 

Niall changes the station eventually, much to Harry’s feigned dismay, and he’s humming along to whatever’s playing when Harry’s hand flashes into his range of vision, pointing at some furry lump in the middle of the road while he bellows  _ SQUIRREL!!!!  _

“Jesus fuck!” Niall’s hand jerks on the wheel in panic and the car swerves heart-stoppingly into the lane beside him, earning a loud honk from behind them and a middle finger from the driver just pulling up alongside them. 

Niall swears under his breath, hand on his chest as he feels out his heartbeat. It’s rabbiting along like anything, his palms prickling with sweat. 

Harry takes one look at his terrified face and starts laughing so hard tears leak out of the corners of his eyes, hands clutching his sides as if to try to contain the laughter, and Niall can feel it vibrating through his bones even though there’s the console between them. 

“That wasn’t funny,” he bites out, trying and failing to remain miffed. “Harry.” 

Harry squints up at him through his tears, his smile still stretched so wide it’s a wonder it even fits in the car. Feels like it’s filling up the air around them, making it hard for Niall to breathe. “It was kinda funny.” 

“Shut it.” 

“You should have seen the look on your face,” Harry continues, letting out a yelp when Niall punches his shoulder. 

“If you’d met that squirrel at home you’d have eaten it,” he points out, keeping his grip steady on the wheel as the light turns green. Harry shakes his head adamantly. 

“I would  _ not. _ ”

“You would.”

“I don’t even like squirrels!” 

“You do, I’ve seen you a hundred times, don’t lie about it--”

“A  _ hundred  _ times? That’s literally impossible.”

“Not in a bloody forest it isn’t. And you eat so fucking much--”

“Not as a wolf!”

“ _ Especially _ as a wolf," Niall asserts, and Harry pouts, folding his arms and leaning his head against the window like the stubborn child he is. 

\---

The fuel gauge starts dipping dangerously low at around three in the afternoon, so Niall turns off into a dilapidated old gas station with peeling paint and only one pump. They wander inside the convenience store after, and Niall’s deliberating between Snickers and Swedish Fish when Harry comes up behind him and slides his fingers through Niall’s belt loops, pulling him flush against his body. 

“Harry,” he chides distractedly, grabbing the party size bag of M&Ms and thinking about how much he’ll regret eating the whole thing later. Harry rests his chin on Niall’s shoulder, pressing his lips just below his ear. “Harry, we’re in public.” 

“So?” 

He knows what Harry wants, knows they haven’t messed around in what feels like ages (it’s been two days, probably) because the both of them are too scared of Louis’s wrath if he finds suspicious stains in his car. But getting Harry riled up is just too much fun to pass up. “D’you want Milky Ways? They’re fuckin’ cheap here, aren’t they?” Niall asks innocently, smirking to himself at the funny noise Harry makes when he pushes his arse back ever so slightly.

“M’not hungry,” Harry mutters. “I need to, uh. Use the restroom.” 

“Then go,” Niall says, smiling to himself. “You’re a big boy, you can do it by yourself, can’t you?” 

Harry tugs hard on his belt loop and Niall’s forced to turn around, satisfaction squirming in his belly when he sees how dark Harry’s eyes have gotten, nearly animalistic. 

“It was an invitation, you prick,” Harry says, and Niall laughs. 

“I’m pretty sure the problem here is  _ your  _ prick--”

“I hope you know I have no qualms about getting down on my knees right here,” Harry says, his voice dangerously low, and that’s how Niall finds himself with his pants shoved down to his ankles and the slam of the stall door still echoing in his ears, Harry kneeling on the dirty bathroom floor in front of him. 

He leaves a trail of lazy kisses down his hipbone, across his thigh, everywhere except where Niall needs him the most. He lets out a frustrated groan, and Harry looks coyly up at him through his eyelashes with the most shit-eating grin Niall’s ever seen. 

“Someone’s getting impatient,” he says in a low voice, and a dark surge of pleasure races up Niall’s spine when he thinks of how much rougher it’s gonna sound when he’s finished with him.

“You were the one who was ready to do it in the middle of the store, and now you want to take things all slow?” 

“I’ve got you right where I want you,” Harry says, and fuck if that doesn’t go straight to Niall’s already hard dick. “There’s no need for rush.” 

But Harry’s all bark, no bite, and he doesn’t wait much longer before getting his mouth on Niall’s cock, his lips stretching deliciously around the width of it. Niall nearly chokes on his own spit at the sight of it, at the sight of Harry taking him in so deep his nose brushes Niall’s stomach, at the sight of him pulling off only to suck at the tip with such obscene noises it makes Niall go blazing red in the face. 

It’s crowded in the tiny, grimy stall, and it’s hot, and he feels like his skin is stretched too tight over his bones, like he’s burning up from the inside out. He’s got his fingers tangled up in Harry’s long hair, and it takes every bit of restraint in him not to tug, and he knows Harry can tell too, because he pulls off suddenly, wiping the saliva off his mouth with the back of his hand. “You can, if you want,” he says, his voice already hoarse. “I don’t mind.” 

And Harry seems to enjoy it, actually, lets out these breathless little moans when Niall pulls on his hair, his mouth working Niall’s cock like it was fucking made for it. It doesn’t last much longer after that. Harry flicks his tongue across the slit of his cock one, two, three times, and then Niall’s coming, knocking his head back against the wall and feeling every muscle in his body tense up as he comes, releasing his load into Harry’s mouth, who’s only too happy to swallow all of it down. 

Niall drops down to his knees, his thighs still trembling with the force of his orgasm, kissing Harry hard. It’s a rough kiss, all teeth and tongue and he can taste himself in Harry’s mouth, and it’s filthy, kissing your own cum out of someone’s mouth. He loves it. 

Harry reaches a hand down, unzipping his jeans with a breathy whimper and pulling his pants down, but Niall bats his hand away before he can start pulling himself off. 

“Let me,” he murmurs, getting a hand around Harry’s cock. He smears the precome dribbling steadily out of the tip down the length of it, and Harry’s blubbering nonsense into Niall’s shoulder as he wanks him,  _ so good, fuck, right there, Niall, please _ \--and it barely takes any time at all before he’s coming, his moans echoing in the bathroom. Niall hopes, belatedly, as he brings his jizz-covered hand to his mouth and licks some off his thumb in hopes of looking sexy but probably just looking stupid (Harry doesn't seem to think so, thank God), that there’s no one else in this bathroom. 

He grabs a piece of toilet paper and wipes the rest of Harry’s cum off the both of them, Harry’s breath still coming shaky as they pull their pants back up. They wash their hands side by side at the sink while stealing glances at each other in the mirror and giggling like they’re a couple of pubescent teenagers after getting off for the first time, and they leave the place bumping shoulders and laughing over nothing.

 

\---

 

Niall is beginning to believe the universe really, truly hates him. Because it’s when they’re far, far past the gas station and have turned down an exit where there’s barely any other cars around them and nothing but empty hills and a couple of cows that they start smelling burning rubber. 

Harry’s the first to pick it up, tilts his head and takes a deep whiff with his nose all scrunched up. “D’you smell that?” 

“Smell what?” Niall’s preoccupied at the moment, glancing down at the bag of Doritos in his lap and fishing out another one. 

“Pull over.” 

“What?” 

“Pull over!” 

Niall swerves into the dirt on the side of the road, tires screeching to a halt as he slams on the brakes. “What the fuck.” 

There’s a faint wisp of smoke curling out of the side of the hood, and Niall’s chips spill all over the floor as he scrambles to get out of the car, leaving the door swinging open as he comes around the front to inspect it.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," he growls, frowning. "Should we open it?" 

Harry’s face is pinched as he stares at the smoking hood with his hands on his hips, looking vaguely disgruntled, the way Niall looks when he reaches for the toilet paper and realizes there’s none left. 

It’s when Harry opens the hood up and they’re staring down at the innards of Louis’s truck that Niall realizes car maintenance is nowhere near his area of expertise. Waddling down the hallway in search of a toilet roll while cursing Harry for not replacing the damn thing when he’s finished it, what kind of a sick bastard does that--yeah. Cars, no. And judging by the look on Hary’s face, he’s in the same boat. 

“We should, uh.” Niall scratches at his jaw. “Get help, maybe?” 

Harry fishes his phone out of his pocket, face growing even more drawn and harried--ha--when he sees there’s no signal. “What the fuck are we supposed to do?” 

Niall turns to look back down the road. Despite it being December, there’s shimmering heat rising up from the blacktop, the whole sloping stretch of land around them bare and exposed to the full force of the setting afternoon sun. But more importantly, they’re practically alone. Niall can only see one car coming towards them on this lonely exit, nothing more than a white speck in the distance. 

“Oh,” Harry chirps suddenly, his voice much too cheerful. It gives Niall a bad feeling. “I have an idea.”

“No.”

“Just listen--what if we hitched a ride? We could get all the way to town, and then send someone out to get the car. It'll be fine.” 

Niall thinks it over, and then blinks in over exaggerated surprise. “That actually makes sense.” 

“I’m hurt,” Harry responds drily, already reaching in the car for their bags, tossing Niall’s to him. “C’mon, there’s a car coming right there.” 

So he and Harry stand there with their thumbs sticking out while the car hurtles closer and closer, close enough that they can see the driver, a middle aged woman with frizzy hair and the deepest frown Niall’s ever seen--and then they’re left standing in a wave of car exhaust and dust as she speeds past them. 

“Fuck you!” Niall yells, his voice carrying surprisingly well in the empty space. Harry laughs. 

“Look,” he says suddenly, his big hand coming up to grip Niall’s shoulder as he points past him. “There’s another one. Let’s see if they like us better, yeah?” 

They don’t. And neither does the next one, which comes half an hour later, or the one after that. They start walking after the fifth car passes them, leaving their car behind, trodding in the dry dirt on the side of the road and passing the water bottle back and forth. They can’t even shift out here to make the journey easier--they’d be spotted by anyone that came along, with no vegetation as cover, nothing. Better not to risk it. 

They walk for what seems like an eternity, thought it’s probably been, like. Thirty minutes, when they come across the rusted pale blue pickup truck parked in the dust. The driver is just hopping in, apparently not having noticed them, slams the car door behind him, and that’s when Harry grabs his elbow and starts dragging him towards it. 

“Harry, what the hell--”

“Back of the truck!” Harry answers, and then he’s letting go of Niall’s arm just as the truck starts to pull back onto the road. He vaults fluidly over the hatch and then disappears out of view. 

Niall falters, slowing to a jog.  _ He can’t be serious _ . “Harry!” 

Harry’s head pops back up, his arm waving at Niall frantically, eyes bugging out as the truck starts to pick up speed, and Niall’s sprinting now, the absurdity of it all numbing the panic as he struggles to catch up. 

_ It’s the heat,  _ he thinks, as Harry starts flailing both arms around and leaning precariously over the edge to reach for Niall.  _ He’s gone mad. _

His lungs burn as he gives one final push, finally close enough to take Harry’s outstretched hand and pull himself up and over until he collapses in the bed of the truck, landing flat on his back with the wide blue sky above him. He freezes, afraid the driver’s realized something wrong, but after a full minute of holding his breath he realizes they’re safe. And then Harry rolls on top of him in a fit of hysterical giggles, trying to muffle the sound by squishing his face into Niall’s neck. 

“Should’ve seen the look on your face,” he says, his breath hot on Niall’s skin. “I can’t believe we just did that.” 

“Quiet, you idiot,” Niall pants, but there’s no heat to it. “Driver’ll hear us.” 

Harry just snorts into his collarbone as Niall catches his breath, and he thinks he feels the wet tip of his tongue on his skin. 

“Are you--are you licking me?” 

“Maybe,” Harry says simply, and Niall tries not to shiver when Harry sinks his teeth in, his tongue soothing over the spot afterwards like it’ll erase it.

“C’mere,” Niall breathes, suddenly much too impatient and very unhappy with the fact that Harry’s mouth isn’t on his. Harry wiggles around and gets comfortable before leaning in and kissing him slow. It feels like one of Perrie’s doses, the way his whole body instantly relaxes. The both of them are sweaty and dirty and out of breath, but kissing Harry--he can almost forget any of it happened. 

The truck goes over a particularly rough bump and they get jostled around, Harry’s teeth knocking into his lip. 

“Ow,” Niall mutters, and Harry laughs gently.

“Sorry.” He reaches up to steady Niall’s head before kissing him again, lips soft and warm against his. He doesn’t know how long they lay there making out for, only that when Niall resurfaces, the sun is just beginning to kiss the horizon, casting the land around them in a honeyed orange light. 

“Still can’t believe we didn’t get caught,” Niall mutters, but Harry doesn’t respond, his gaze fixed on something above Niall’s head. “What?” 

Harry points at the wooden crates stacked against the front of the cargo bed. Niall squints at the dark letters stamped on the side of one, tilting his head to the side to read it. The dusky light makes it hard to read, and he shakes his head at Harry. 

“What does it say?” 

“Fragile,” Harry whispers back. 

“What?” 

Harry just rolls his eyes and tugs at the nearest one till it tumbles into his lap. 

“Harry!” Niall hisses, ducking down below the line of the window so the driver can’t see them. “What the hell are you-”

Triumphant, Harry balances the crate in his lap and pulls out a bottle of wine, eyes glinting delightedly. 

“Are you mental?” Niall snorts, voice hushed. “We can’t just steal his fucking  _ wine- _ ”

Harry looks him straight in the eyes as he flips out his pocket knife, sticks the blade into the cork and yanks it out. Niall can’t take his eyes off him as he brings the bottle to his lips and takes a swig, throat exposed. 

_ Bite,  _ the wolf snaps.  _ Bite,  _ the voice in his head whispers. 

Harry sets the bottle down on the crate again, fingers wrapped around the neck, and props his head up in his hand, elbow digging into the bed of the truck. “Have some,” he offers, grinning crookedly, dimples deeper than he’s ever seen them. 

Never one to refuse an offer like that- and truthfully, never one to say no to Harry- he takes the bottle and sips at it obediently. It’s cheap wine, and it’s dry and bitter but he keeps drinking till his lungs burn and he pulls away, thumb pressed against the label on the bottle. He hands it back to Harry, who squints down at the label before taking another gulp. They pass it back and forth for who knows how long as the sun melts tallow-soft into the horizon, golden sunlight spilling over them. 

“It’s not that good,” Harry admits after a while, looking up with a glaze to his eye, and Niall almost laughs out loud.

“Why are you drinking it then?” Niall asks, making grabby hands at the bottle. 

“Why are  _ you _ ?” Harry counters. Niall wraps both of his hands around the bottle tightly. When Harry is sober, eye contact is direct and intense and it feels like being trapped in a pair of headlights. Half a bottle of wine in, it’s considerably worse, and that much harder to look away.

“Dunno,” he mumbles, taking another sip. The glass is cool in his hands as he peers down at it, and he still can’t make out any of the words on it. When he looks back up, the wolf inside shuts up so quickly it’s unnerving. It always does that when he looks at Harry, but tonight more than ever, and he wonders if it’s because he’s halfway to tipsy town or because Harry looks so damn breathtaking. 

It’s probably the alcohol blurring his vision, but Harry looks a little fuzzy at the edges, lips sticky and red from the wine. His face is angled so that the rays from the sunset hit his eyes just right, making them glow a lighter green than he’s ever seen them, and NIall remembers, distantly, that when he first saw Harry his eyes reminded him of the lake. He thinks he can see to the bottom of it, now. 

“I’ve been drinking,” he says quietly, and Harry snorts, beaming hazily at him. 

“I can see that,” he says. The neck of his sweater dips below his collarbone when he reaches up to rub at his eyes.

“No, I meant-” He loses his words, mouth going dry. Harry’s smiling at him, so gently and fondly that if he rolled over Niall would probably see sunshine shooting out of his ass. He’s at a loss again, and he has so many questions suddenly surfacing in his mind; how can Harry be so carefree and kind when life has been nothing but rough and cruel with him? And why is he so intent on looking at him like that- like he hung the stars in the sky, or something. Because he hasn't. Niall isn’t anything unique or important. He’s nothing but a speck of dust in this swirling, glittering universe, but Harry- Harry is the sun. Harry is everything. 

“I’ve been thinking,” he tries again, voice rough, and the smile doesn’t fade from Harry’s face. 

“Stop, before you hurt yourself,” Harry snickers, and Niall goes silent, all the courage flickering in his chest stamped out in a millisecond. It must show on his face, because Harry’s smile drops instantly. “Hey,” he breathes, reaching out and patting around till he finds Niall’s hand. “I’m sorry. What were you thinking about?” 

Niall lowers his eyes, flipping his hand underneath Harry’s so their fingers tangle together. “You’re my best friend,” he says.

“You’re mine too.” Harry’s smile is starting to fade, and there’s a decidedly sober look in his eyes. Niall decides a quick fix to that is to lean over and twist his nipple before he has the chance to lean away, grinning at the sharp yelp Harry lets out and the feigned hurt on his face. 

“Ow,” Harry frowns. 

“Sorry,” he says, eyes catching on Harry’s bottom lip.  _ Bite,  _ a voice inside him insists again. He can’t tell if it’s the wolf anymore. 

Probably with revenge on his mind, Harry clambers over until he lays his entire body over Niall’s, and he can feel the air leave his chest as Harry presses down trying to get comfortable. 

_ Not revenge, then.  _ Their legs are tangled together, and Harry props himself on his elbows, hair almost reaching Niall’s face. 

“Hi,” Niall whispers. 

Harry tilts his head and smiles, canines flashing white in the darkness. “Hey.” 

Niall’s hands find Harry’s waist at the same time Harry leans down, closing the distance till their mouths meet. Niall’s mind goes blank, instantly hooked on the taste of bitter wine on Harry’s lips. 

As usual, Harry kisses him the way he talks, slow and sweet, like they’ve got all the time in the world. It feels like it, with the way he pulls at Niall’s bottom lip and smiles into his kisses and how his arms start trembling in his effort to keep from completely crushing Niall underneath him. 

Niall pushes at his hips till he rolls over, and they lay on their sides, his hands running down Harry’s skin and Harry’s hands tangled in his hair, tugging gently and then harder until Niall groans into his mouth. 

And then Harry makes the mistake of moving again. His leg hits the crate of wine behind him, and Niall sees it tip almost in slow motion before the bottles start clattering out and shattering on the bed of the truck, liquid spilling everywhere. The noise is deafening in the silence, and Niall catches Harry’s startled gaze just before the truck screeches to a stop. 

The car door slams open, followed by the crunch of gravel as a heavy set man whose face Niall can’t make out slides out. 

“What the fuck are you doing in the back of my truck?” The driver barks, and Niall freezes for all of about half a second before he’s got Harry’s arm in a vise-like grip and he’s hauling them up and over the side of the truck, bag dangling precariously in one hand. 

“Hey! Get back here!” 

“Fuck, fuck, fucking hell-” Harry curses breathlessly as the two of them scramble away, the man continuing to screech obscenities at them as they sprint into the darkness, trying not to trip over their own feet. 

Harry tugs on his sleeve and Niall nearly faceplants into the dirt as they turn suddenly off the side of the road and into the mud. 

“Get down,” Harry whispers, and he does, crouching out of view and watching with bated breath as the driver climbs back in the truck. He thinks they’re safe, but then he comes back out with a flashlight in hand. 

“Are you serious,” Niall whispers, can feel Harry tense up next to him. The beam of the flashlight bounces over the road, over the fence, over the hills. 

“Wait here,” Harry says suddenly, and Niall barely has time to protest before Harry’s shifting next to him, and then a massive wolf is making its way towards the man, still hunched out of view. 

Harry lets out a piercing howl. The sound has the hairs on Niall’s arms standing on end, goosebumps spreading down his skin, and it appears as if the driver is scared out of his wits, because he drops his flashlight instantly, the light going out as it hits the pavement. Harry starts growling for good measure, the noise interspersed with sharp barks, and the man is practically falling over himself trying to get back to the car. Niall hears the slam of the car door, the engine roaring to life, and then the truck hurtles past him with the wine bottles still clattering around in the back. 

Harry bounds over with his tongue lolling out of his jaws, fur drenched in moonlight, crashing right into Niall and toppling him over. He’s flat on his back, then, with Harry squirming on top of him like a giant dog, surprised laughter bubbling out of his mouth before Harry shifts and he’s got an armful of long limbs and long hair and a wide smile that presses against his own in a kiss that’s more laughing into each other's mouths than really touching. 

Harry rolls off him eventually, still close enough that he hooks his leg over Niall’s as they lay there silently in the dirt without caring that their clothes are getting dirty. “Look!” Harry says suddenly, grabbing at Niall’s arm and pointing at the sky. “That’s  _ Andromeda. _ ” 

Niall stares up at the stars, eyes searching in vain for the invisible lines of the constellation. “That’s  _ Aquarius, _ ” he tries, pointing at a different section of sky.

Harry snorts. “No, it’s not. Kudos for trying, though.” 

“Thank you.” 

There’s silence, and then Harry speaks again. “Niall?” His voice is unexpectedly soft, and it makes something in Niall’s chest twinge distantly, the way an old bruise does. 

“What?” 

“I think,” Harry begins, voice unsure for the first time in a while, “I might be in love with you.” 

Niall’s mouth goes dry. There’s a dull ache in his skull, and when he turns to look at him Harry looks angelic under the moonlight, skin smooth and pale and eyes shining. He looks too good to be true. “You’re drunk,” he blurts, refusing to let Harry’s words slip and settle between his ribs as truth. Because it can’t be true. 

“Yeah,” Harry admits, blinking slowly. “But in the morning I’ll be sober and I’ll still feel the same.” 

“Why?” It’s a testament to how wrought with emotion he is that he can’t find it in himself to care that his voice cracks on the one word. 

“You make me happy,” Harry says, and Niall scoffs, the noise lacking any humor. 

“Just because I get a laugh out of you once in a while--”

“No,  _ you  _ make me happy,” Harry frowns, insistent. He wriggles closer, and Niall props his head up in one hand, elbow digging into the gritty earth. “Just...you. Even when you’re not making me laugh or anything, you’re just…” he trails off. “You’re everything, Niall.” Harry pauses, and it feels like Niall’s world has stopped rotating, like it’s been rolled off its axis. 

“Why won’t you believe me?” Harry asks, and Niall swallows heavily, eyes dropping. 

_ Because if it’s real, it means I can lose it.  _ Because Harry is one of the best things to ever come into his life, and he doesn’t want to lose him like he’s lost everyone else. The way he’s lost Bobby, and Maura, and Greg. Linda and Paul, in the ways that matter. His childhood. His innocence. God, it hasn’t been long, no, but he doesn’t think he’d be able to survive losing Harry as well. 

“I--I believe you,” he tells him shakily, breath fogging in the cold night air. “And that scares me.”

Harry stares, mouth parted slightly, waiting for him to continue, and Niall feels like time is grinding to a halt, pulling thick and syrupy around them. Waiting for him. 

“Because I love you, Harry,” he breathes, emotion bubbling in his chest so fiercely he feels he could burst with it. “So, so much.” 

Harry’s face breaks into a grin so bright, so hopeful Niall has no choice but to mirror it back, incredulous laughter spilling out between his teeth. And really, when he thinks about it, he’s never had a choice. Harry burst into his life without warning and settled down into the empty space Niall didn’t know was there, and this--this thing, between them--it feels like it was inevitable. Like fate, like destiny, like whatever you want to call it.

And maybe, if all the shit he’s gone through, all the loss, all the hurt--if it brought him here, to Harry, if it brought him to being happy with himself and somehow feeling unafraid in the face of danger... _ then maybe,  _ Niall thinks, as Harry leans into his space and kisses him long and slow and sweet, still smiling,  _ it was worth it. _

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorry my posting date keeps getting pushed back, there's just a lot going on right now and not a lot of time for me to write unfortunately :/


	5. Chapter 5

_**increbesco**_. Latin, meaning: to strengthen, to intensify.

 

(x)

_Niall’s sitting on the floor, an array of children’s toys scattered around him. He picks up a toy train, his tiny hands barely able to hold it before it’s clattering to the floor again._  

_“Niall!”_

_He looks up, sees a woman’s smiling face. He notices her short figure, her blonde hair, her blue eyes._ Ma _, his mind supplies helpfully. And then he’s being scooped up, giddy laughter escaping his mouth as Maura holds him, her bright eyes close to his and so. So full of love. It makes Niall’s little chest ache for reasons he can’t quite grasp, and then Maura’s disappearing, her image disintegrating, warmth fading away._

_“Niall,” someone’s saying, but it’s not directed at him, he can tell--and then the darkness is replaced by bright lights and someone’s living room, chairs filled with people staring at him with scrutiny and apprehension. He can taste it in the air._

_“He was turned yesterday,” a girl’s voice says, and he turns and sees long white-blonde hair, a sympathetic expression and glittering blue eyes. “He doesn’t understand what happened, yet.”_

_“Turned,” Niall repeats, his mouth tasting like cotton. He feels sluggish, groggy. “Turned into what?”_

_He looks towards a boy sitting in front of him with a buzzcut and warm brown eyes, who says, “A werewolf.”_

_And then the living room fades._

_“Niall!” He recognizes the voice this time._

_He turns, sees Louis standing knee deep in the water, saying, “Hurry up, we haven’t got all day.”_

_Niall grumbles a bit as he finishes slathering on his sun cream. He knows he’ll burn to a crisp within minutes in the sun, unlike the rest of the pack, who are sprawled in the gritty sand on their towels or splashing about like Louis._

_He edges in obediently, though, the water cool as it laps at his skin. The trees around them sway gently in the wind, the sky above crystal clear. The stones are slippery underneath his feet as he moves towards Louis and Liam, who are wrestling about like a couple of kids, their laughter bouncing off the rocks and painting a slow smile on Niall’s own face._

_Then Liam convinces him to climb up to the lower cliff, where the rocks are smooth and hot and the drop is just high enough that his heart stops for a second when they jump off, Liam’s giddy yell mixing with his panicked shriek just before they plunge into the water._

_Bubbles swirl around him as he opens his eyes slowly. He can see Liam kicking to the surface two feet away from him, but he stays still for a moment, blinking up at the wavy surface above. Sunlight filters through the water, dappling his skin._

_Liam spits a thin stream of water at him when he resurfaces, eyes crinkling up when Niall yells at him for it and tries to shove his head back underwater._

_And then he’s left alone, floating on his back as Liam swims off to bug Deo about something. He closes his eyes. Half of his body is chilled underwater, the murky green water licking at his skin, and the other half feels the deliciously warm kiss of the sun, the summer breeze._

_It’s good, Niall thinks, opening his eyes to the blue sky. It’s good._

_And then the scene fractures once more, and a new one paints over his vision. There’s a board game on the coffee table, two glasses of wine, and Harry on the other side with the roaring fireplace behind him. He’s drowning in an oversized black jumper with little planets stitched on the front, and his hair is tied up into a bun, strands of it falling into his face as he shakes with laughter. He’s beautiful, and it makes Niall’s chest burn. He can feel his own cheeks ache from smiling so much, and he doesn’t remember what they’re laughing about, doesn’t know, but. Just as he reaches over to Harry - for what, he doesn’t know, to touch him, to kiss him - everything goes dark._

Niall’s eyes snap open.

Early morning light filters through the spotted window of the dingy hotel they’d stumbled upon the night before after their little escapade with the truck and the wine. The sheets are too warm and too stiff underneath him, but he’s got Harry snoring on his chest and his inked up arm circled protectively over his torso, so he’s not complaining.

He can almost still feel his mother’s arms around him, can hear the bits of conversation Perrie and Liam had been having, the warmth of the sun as he’d floated in the lake, Harry’s laughter echoing in his ears.

It hits him, suddenly, that it’s the first dream he’s had in three years. The first _real_ dream, one that’s not his recurring, nightmarish memory of being mauled in the middle of the forest. It makes something warm stir in his gut, like maybe it’s getting better. Like normal isn’t so out of reach, anymore.

Harry makes a sleepy little noise, shifting a little under the sheets and blinking awake slowly, his lashes tickling Niall’s skin as they move.

“Morning, pet,” Niall mumbles, and Harry rolls off him with a groan, hands coming up to rub at his eyes.

“God, it’s early,” he sighs, and Niall can’t help the smile that grows on his face as he leans over and presses a kiss to Harry’s forehead. Harry tilts his head up, hands coming up to grip at Niall’s bare shoulders before he kisses him properly. Niall knows his morning breath must be something awful, and so is Harry’s, but he can’t bring himself to care.

“Reckon we have time for a shag before we go exploring in the wilderness?” Harry asks, hair falling in his face, and Niall rolls his eyes.  
  
“Is that all you think about?”

“It’s hard not to,” Harry smirks, hand slipping underneath the sheets to grope at Niall’s arse. He yelps, pretending to push him away, but Harry just grins wider, pulling Niall over him so he’s lying on top of him. “But if you don’t want to, that’s fine."

“Shut up,” Niall says, already grinding down lazily on Harry’s half-interested cock.

“As you wish,” Harry murmurs, kissing him and bringing his hands up to Niall’s hips, squeezing slightly. And - Niall doesn’t hate his own body, thinks it’s served him very well over the last 21 years and that’s something to be grateful for, but he has his insecurities just like everyone else. He’s too pale, for one. Has never been able to tan the way Harry or Liam can. Plus he’s got chicken legs and he still can’t grow stubble and he’s a little on the shorter side, and he figures Harry could do a lot better than him. Could do miles better than him.

But here Harry is, hands sliding up his back, groaning into his mouth, leaving love bites on every inch of his body he can get to and murmuring things against his skin about how gorgeous Niall is. Here he is flipping them over, grinding down on _Niall’s_ cock, kissing _Niall’s_ mouth, running his hands through _Niall’s_ hair - and it’s times like this that Niall wonders how he managed to win the lottery when it came to love.

“Harry,” he pants, trying to tear his eyes away from Harry’s kiss-bruised lips. “Can you--” he hesitates, flushing red for some reason.

“What is it, pet?” Harry asks, slipping a hand between them and digging his fingertips underneath the waistband of Niall’s pants. “What d’you want?”

“Want you to fuck me,” Niall rushes out, and Harry’s eyes flash up to meet his. He can practically see his eyes darkening, pupils expanding till there’s barely a thin ring of green left.

“Yeah,” Harry says, and his voice is just the slightest bit deeper. He pulls Niall’s pants off all the way and then wiggles out of his own, tossing them somewhere over his shoulder. “Yeah, okay. If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.” Niall pushes himself up on the bed, feeling jittery as he watches Harry dig around in his backpack for the lube and condoms. “You came prepared?” he jokes, but his palms are sweating and he can’t seem to sit still.

“Bought this at the store yesterday. You were too busy stuffing your gob with candy to notice it.” Harry tells him, jumping back on the bed, and Niall laughs a little, relaxing slightly. 

He’s never done this before with another guy, is the thing. It’s never gone this far. He’s nervous about it, but he trusts Harry, and really there’s no one he’d rather do this with than him.

“Hey,” Harry says softly, crawling in between Niall’s knees and grabbing his hands. “You’re shaking, babe.” Niall flushes red under the weight of Harry’s gaze, squirming a little. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, remember?”

“I know - I want to.”

“Alright then,” Harry says, leaning forward and kissing him softly. “I’ll take care of you, pet. Relax.”

Harry goes so slow with him, spreading his legs and taking his time slicking up his fingers before teasing the rim of his hole gently. Niall whines lowly at the drag of Harry’s fingertips over the sensitive nerves there, dipping in just barely. A shiver runs up his spine at the feeling. It’s not painful yet, just strange. Harry slides the first finger in slowly, and Niall clenches involuntarily around him, hissing between his teeth quietly.

“Relax, Ni,” Harry reminds him, kissing him quickly as he hovers over him. “I promise it’ll feel better if you relax.”

Niall exhales shakily, blinking up into Harry’s eyes. He tries his best to do so, releasing the sheets where he’d had them gripped in his fists and spreading his legs open a bit wider. Harry presses his finger in deeper, and then adds a second, scissoring them and thrusting them in and out.

“Okay?” Harry asks, and Niall nods. 

“I can take a bit more,” he breathes, thighs flexing as he adjusts his legs, planting his feet flat on the bed.

He can’t help getting a hand on himself as Harry stretches him, but Harry doesn’t let him get too far. Says patience is a virtue, and he wants Niall to be virtuous for today.

There’s nothing virtuous about the way Harry slides a condom on himself, slicking himself up with a liberal amount of lube and keeping eye contact with Niall the entire time. Niall’s rock hard at this point, watching Harry lean over him, body radiating heat, positioning himself so the tip of his cock butts wetly against Niall’s hole.

“Okay,” Harry murmurs, caging his arms around Niall’s head and kissing him hard. “You ready?”

“Yeah," he grunts, unable to stop himself from bucking his hips up and groaning when his cock finds friction against Harry’s tense abs.

“Patience,” Harry murmurs, but then he starts pushing in and Niall’s train of thought vanishes. And, fuck, it does hurt a little bit, the stretch a little too much, and he grits his teeth while Harry slides all the way in until he’s balls deep in Niall’s ass.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” Harry groans, and that has Niall’s cock twitching against his stomach even through the discomfort, an embarassing amount of precome already leaking out of the tip.

“Move,” Niall urges, shifting his hips around, and Harry starts thrusting shallowly, letting him get used to it. But Harry is a hypocrite, and he’s nowhere as self-controlled as he pretends to be, because he starts moving faster, slamming in harder, and Niall’s never felt so damn _full._

“So fucking tight,” Harry moans breathlessly, and he’s bucking his hips relentlessly, the bed creaking underneath them with their movement. “Taking me so well, Ni.” Niall’s cock is aching to be touched, throbbing with need, and his breath is coming hot and heavy and there’s sweat pooling in the hollow of Harry’s throat, skin feverishly warm under his hands. It all feels so fucking good, and he doesn’t ever want Harry to stop, doesn’t ever want him to stop fucking into him like this.

Niall’s never been particularly vocal during sex, but today - now - is different. He’s whining and whimpering every time his cock rubs up against Harry’s stomach, every time Harry fucks into him so hard he slides up the bed an inch, letting out these high pitched moans that make him go red in the face even as he twitches his hips up to try and shove Harry in deeper.

“Harry,” he gasps out. “Touch me, c’mon, touch me--” And Harry does, wrapping his hands around Niall’s throbbing cock and pulling him off. The sound of Harry’s cock driving into his ass is obscene, slick and wet and hot. All Niall needs is Harry digging his thumb into the slit of his cock before he’s coming, his whole body shuddering as his orgasm overtakes him. Feels like Harry’s milking him dry with the amount of cum that splatters up on his stomach, a low moan falling out of Harry’s mouth at the sight.

Harry brings Niall’s legs up from around his waist and pushes them back, knees towards his chest, and Niall clenches tight around his cock, grinning when Harry’s eyes fall shut, forehead screwed up in pleasure.

“C’mon, come for me, babe, you can do it,” Niall pants, still trembling, and Harry lets go, his hips stuttering as he grunts and drives in even harder, drawing out his orgasm.

His hands are squeezed tight on Niall’s thighs when he finally comes back down, hips slowing at last, a tired but pleased grin on his face as he pulls out and flops on the bed beside Niall. Harry pulls the condom off and bins it, chest shining with sweat while Niall turns his head on the pillow to look at him properly.

“I think,” Harry sighs contentedly, staring up at the ceiling, “we should just stay here for the rest of the day.”

“As much as I’d love that,” Niall laughs, reaching for the duvet and pulling it over the both of them, his arse feeling rather sore, “We should probably leave in like. An hour.”

“Terrible,” Harry mutters, reaching for Niall and pulling him close. “Screw the schedule. I’m tired.”

“This was your idea.”

“You enjoyed my idea,” Harry adds, and it sounds like a joke, but the look on his face makes it seem like more of a question, an important one.

“Yeah,” Niall smirks, reaching up and patting at Harry’s chest assuringly. “I definitely did.”

“We should try my ideas out more often, then,” Harry grins wickedly before Niall shuts him up with a kiss.

 

 

\---

 

 

Their first order of business for the day is to send someone out to get the car. They manage to locate the nearest auto repair shop within twenty minutes, and after someone’s been sent out to fix it, Niall and Harry head out of town and into the dense woodland surrounding Red Bluff, where the Canyon pack was last sighted.

It’s freezing, and Niall can’t seem to stop shivering, even when they shift as soon as they’re out of sight and he’s got a layer of fur to keep him warm. The cold seems to be sinking into his bones, alleviated only slightly by how tight Harry presses to his side, warmth bleeding between their bodies. His butt’s still a bit achy, too.

But it’s alright. Things could be worse, he thinks, watching his breath billow out from between his jaws and focusing on his feet so he doesn’t step on Harry’s while he’s busy sniffing the ground and trying to pick up a scent.

He seems to find it quickly after that, lifting his big head and pacing faster along the path they’re following, deeper into the woods. Niall follows close behind, Harry’s tail occasionally swishing across his face. They’re careful to be tread quietly, not making much noise in case they stumble upon danger. The Canyon pack could be anywhere in the vicinity, and they’re all too aware of that fact.

Another hour passes like this, and they’ve been going on long enough that Niall knows the scent they’re following. Oddly enough, it smells a lot like a dumpster. Like rotting food and trash. And it only gets more repulsive the farther they walk. He knows other packs’ scents are inherently nasty because they’re not his, but he never picked up anything as bad like this from Harry, despite the fact that he was an outsider.

Harry’s tail whacks him particularly hard in the nose and he yelps, nipping at his furry backside to let him know he’s not pleased. Harry looks back over his shoulder, eyes wide and as angelic as a wolf’s can be as if to say he didn’t mean it. Niall just huffs and pushes forward so that they’re walking side by side again.

They enter the thicker stretch of woods around noon, sudden darkness enveloping them. The familiar wet of muddy earth underneath his paws is a welcome relief from the dry leaves, and a small reminder of home. Niall’s getting tired of this, bored out of his mind and bones aching from following stale traces of the pack’s scent for miles and miles and growing increasingly frustrated. They’re exactly where their information said the Canyon pack should be, yet there’s no sight of them.

He keeps his mouth shut though, so it takes another half hour before Harry gives up and says it.

“They’re not here,” he mutters angrily even before he’s completely done shifting, a deep frown on his face.  

“No shit,” Niall says dryly, leaning over and plucking a leaf out of Harry’s tangled hair after shifting himself. “They’ve been here, definitely, but--”

“They’ve left,” Harry frowns, staring down at the dirt like it’ll disclose the secrets of the universe. But then he lifts his head, and Niall can practically see the gears spinning. “They’re not here. They’re must’ve already--” Harry stops himself, his face suddenly pale, though Niall figures that’s just from the weird lighting.

“We can move farther north, maybe? Check upstream?”

“No - south.”

“Why?”

Harry shrugs, glancing away. “Just got a hunch.” And then he shifts, Niall follows suit, and they’re off, heading down towards the southern limits of Red Bluff.

And Harry turns out to be right with his hunch about going south. The farther they walk, the stronger the scent gets. It’s still not fresh, which means they’re not near them, but it means they’re on the right track, and that’s enough of a push for Niall to keep going without complaint.

The trail leads them all the way to a semi-deserted parking lot outside of a motel. He and Harry crouch in the bushes as close as they dare, safe in the fact that no one’s around to see a couple of wolves scrounging about.

Harry is the first to shift again, and this time, Niall knows it’s not the lighting that’s making him look pale. His face looks drained, his eyes wide and scared as he waits for Niall to shift as well.

“What is it?” Niall asks quickly, adrenaline spiking in his blood. “What?”

“They’re gone.” Harry’s throwing his hair up in a bun, worry etched in every corner of his face. “They’re not here, Niall, we need to go home.”

“Hold on.” Niall almost laughs incredulously. “You want to go home already? Harry, we have to keep following their scent, we still don’t know where they are--”

“Exactly!” Harry snaps, sounding frantic. “Their scent leads from this parking lot down that road, Niall, and you know where the road leads? The highway that goes straight home.”

Niall’s floundering, opening his mouth to speak and then snapping it shut again. There’s got to be a reason Harry’s wrong, because if he’s right, it’s bad. If the scent is already a day old, it means that the Canyon pack will reach home before Niall and Harry do. They’ll find an unsuspecting pack, _Niall’s_ pack, numbering eight instead of ten, completely unaware. “But the nymphs said--”

“Your information was wrong,” Harry says firmly. “They might have been bought off somehow, I don’t know. But we need to get home.”

“Okay,” Niall breathes, getting to his feet and helping Harry up. “Okay, let’s go home.”

 

 

\---

 

 

“Why the fuck isn’t he answering?”

Niall brings his phone away from his face, scowling down at the screen as he hangs up. He’s left at least six voicemails, texted him repeatedly with no reply, and tried in vain to use the connection between their minds to get hold of Liam. Still nothing. Granted, it’s late in the night, and he might be asleep, or his phone’s accidentally on silent. There’s perfectly logical explanations for Liam not answering, but none of them satisfy Niall’s wild imagination. Instead, he’s thinking about how he’s gonna come home to his entire pack murdered or missing, and it’ll all be his fault. Because he was stupid enough not to figure this out.

“Try again in a few minutes,” Harry tells him, white-knuckling the steering wheel as they speed down the highway. They’ve still got another hour of their journey left, and Niall’s anxiety keeps ratcheting up higher with every minute that passes. He chews distractedly at his cuticle, ignoring the sting of pain as he peels away another strip of skin. The glass of the window is cold against his skull while some station on the radio hums lowly in drawn out syllables Niall can’t focus on long enough to understand. He turns it off.

He tries calling Liam again. It rings, and rings, and rings. Niall decides that if he has to hear Liam’s voicemail one more time he’ll throw his phone out the window. (He doesn’t, because phones are expensive.)

The pack’s presence in his head starts growing stronger as the seconds tick by, and he’s constantly thinking at them and at Liam especially, but he knows they can’t hear him. It feels like his words - his thoughts - are just hitting an invisible wall between them, bouncing back.

“Shit,” Niall mutters, squinting at the top of his screen.

“What is it?” Harry asks, glancing over.

“Only got one percent left,” he sighs, tapping on Liam’s contact again and putting him on speaker. “Last call, I guess.”

The phone rings. It rings again. And a third time.

Niall’s pulling the phone away from his ear, accepting defeat, when the ringing stops abruptly and he hears Liam’s voice on the other end.

_“Niall? Sorry, my phone was on silent, dunno why.”_

“For fuck’s sake, Liam,” Niall groans, but he’s so relieved he doesn’t even care that 62 of his calls went unanswered.

_“Are you okay? Did something happen?”_

“No, just - just listen to me, okay? Where’s the rest of the pack? Are all of you alright?”

_“Yeah, s’far as I know. Why?”_

“Look, I don’t have that much time, but the Canyon pack is on their way there right now.”

“Probably,” Harry adds from beside him.

“ _What?”_ Liam sounds confused, but Niall doesn’t have time to explain.

“Me and Harry are about an hour away, and my phone’s about to die. Just make sure everyone is safe and--” There’s a beep in his ear, and then he can’t hear Liam breathing on the other end anymore.

He pulls the phone away from his face, tapping at the dark screen, pressing the home button. Nothing.

“Fucking hell,” Niall groans, throwing his head back against the headrest and dropping his phone in between his thighs.

“That was…unlucky.” Harry observes, and Niall just sighs and tries not to wedge the side of his thumb between his teeth again.

Twenty minutes later, he finds he can finally break through to Liam, and he starts thinking furiously at him - only to realize he’s asleep. Again.

“Jesus Christ!” Niall yells, and Harry doesn’t even flinch. “Why can’t he stay awake for half a fucking hour?”

“Hold on, Ni,” Harry soothes, reaching over and squeezing his thigh reassuringly. “We’re almost home.”

Harry only removes his hand when they reach the internal roads of town, speeding down streets and skidding around corners much faster than’s probably legal. They leave the car parked haphazardly on the driveway, not bothering with any of their things. Niall wrenches the door open with shaking hands and stumbles towards the front door, a frantic energy building up in his chest as he fumbles with the key, finally unlocking it and bursting into Liam’s house.

“Liam!” Niall yells, feet pounding hollowly on the laminate floor. “Liam, where-” He crashes right into Liam’s solid figure as he turns a corner and he nearly slips, but Liam grabs his arms, steadying him.

“Woah,” Liam laughs. “Slow down there.”

“Liam,” he gasps out, grabbing his shoulders and squeezing tight. Liam’s smile fades. “Liam, where’s-”

“Why are you back so early?”

“No, listen to me, where’s--”

“Did you find them?”

“Where’s the rest of the pack?”

“Where’s - what?” Liam frowns. “Niall, I already told you. They’re at home. They’re all safe.”

He shakes his head, frustrated. “No, no, we need them all here. Get them here, right now.”

Liam furrows his brows, clearly confused, but pauses for a moment, doing what Niall’s asked. He hears Harry come up behind him, can feel the tension dissipate from his shoulders when he sees Liam.

“What happened, you guys?” Liam asks, a little hesitantly. “You never explained. You weren’t supposed to be back till tomorrow--”

“They’re coming here,” Niall cuts him off. “They weren’t at Red Bluff and Harry found their scent leading south, which means they could be here at any minute, and it’s not safe for any of us to be out because we can’t tell where they are and we definitely don’t have any chance of winning a fight against them.”

Liam’s eyes have been growing comically wider with every word he says, and in any other circumstance Niall would have made fun of him for it.

“Louis is on his way,” Liam says slowly after a while, seeming at a loss for words. “The rest are coming.”

Niall nods curtly, bringing his hand up to chew on a cuticle and shoving the other one in his pocket. He hears Harry make a little noise beside him, but he doesn’t realize what he means till Harry reaches up and pushes his hand away from his mouth, fingers wrapping around his wrist.

Louis arrives first, and Niall lets Harry explain while he perches on the edge of the couch in Liam’s living room, trying not to chew on his nails or bounce his knee or tap his fingers against his thigh or do any of the things he knows will make the room nervous. The rest of the pack filters in one by one, Laura, Bressie, Deo, Willie. Niall finds himself doing a headcount over and over again.

_One, two, three, four, five, six, seven._

_One, two, three, four, five, six, seven._

_One, two, three, four--_

“How long are we meant to stay here?” Deo says suddenly, and Niall glances sharply at him.

“What?”

“Are we gonna sit here forever?” Deo restates, cocking his head. Niall grits his teeth. “I mean, we don’t even know for sure if they’re headed this way, or when they’re going to be here. Are we--”

“We have to be,” Harry says from across the room. “We can’t take risks like that, and it’s better that we all stick together.”

He sees Deo open his mouth, and then shut it abruptly, clearly annoyed at being interrupted by Harry.

The clock hits midnight an hour later. The pack has spread out; Laura’s snoring on the couch, Liam’s inside his room, Bressie’s throwing something together in the kitchen and Deo and Willie are playing Mario Kart. Louis, Harry and him are left to wander about, pacing restlessly or talking about shit that doesn’t matter and trying to occupy their minds so they don’t devolve into nervous wrecks.

He can practically feel the restlessness in the air, knows a couple of them, at least, aren’t convinced of the danger Niall is certain is just outside their door. Can feel them itching to get out. Most of them are too on edge to sleep, appetites gone, snappish with each other and arguing over who gets the throw pillow on the couch by the time it’s 2 AM. Wolves don’t take well to captivity.

And, maybe Niall should have seen it coming. Maybe he should have said more, done more. Because everything starts unraveling when Deo stands up at 3:52 AM and says, “I’m leaving.”

“You _can’t_ ,” Liam snaps instantly without looking up from the TV, and even Laura and Willie look wary at the foreign tone of anger in his voice. “We went over this already. It’s not safe.”

“Yeah?” Deo challenges. “I don’t see anything out there. Don’t hear anything, don’t smell anything. I think we’re perfectly fine right now, and the only reason we’re sitting here is because those two--” he points at Niall and Harry, who straighten up-- “are a couple of pussies who can’t handle a little road trip. That’s why they came back early. They got scared.”

“Watch your fucking mouth,” Niall growls, standing up instantly. Harry grabs his wrist, but doesn’t stop him. “If it was so easy, why didn’t you do it yourself instead of trying to send Harry off alone?”

Deo bristles, gritting his teeth. Niall can hear it from across the room. “You know what, fuck that. I’m leaving. We’re wasting our time here, we could be trying to defend our goddamn territory and we’re all in here like a bunch of cowards who can’t stand their ground--”

“Deo,” Laura starts.

“And if all of you are satisfied with that, then fine. But I’m going.”

“Going where?” Bressie rumbles sleepily, ambling into the kitchen and rubbing at his eyes. Deo doesn’t even spare him a glance before pushing past him, footsteps sounding down the hallway. Willie gets to his feet, making to follow him, but Louis cuts in front of him, shaking his head.

“Deo,” Willie calls, struggling against Louis’s grip. “Deo, c’mon, man--”

The front door slams shut, and the room falls silent.

Willie stops squirming, lets his hands fall to his sides. Laura looks a bit thunderstruck, unmoving in her seat by the fireplace.

“Track him,” Niall says quietly. “Someone find out where he’s going.” There’s empty space in his head when he tries to reach for Deo. Must have blocked him out, but he wouldn’t do that to the rest of the pack, not Laura or Willie.

A second passes, then two. Three.

“Well?” Niall demands, looking around the room. “Can nobody--”

“I can’t,” Laura says, sounding choked. “He’s not - I can’t reach him.”

“Neither can I,” Willie mutters, running his hands through his hair and exhaling shakily. “Look, I’m going after him, I can’t--”

“No!” Niall snaps, frustration too high to remain calm. “No one is going after him. If he wants to be a fucking idiot and get himself killed, then he can do that.”

“Niall,” Harry whispers beside him, but he ignores it.

“No one is risking their life for him,” he says, and Willie’s gaze drops. “He can do whatever the hell he wants.”

The tension is palpable, thick in the air around him as Niall sinks back down. Everyone seems to be refusing to look him in the eye, except Harry, who shifts closer so their shoulders are squished tight together, comforting him.

An hour passes. Deo isn’t picking up his phone, and Niall can’t help but roll his eyes when Laura grows increasingly frustrated with every ring that goes unanswered. He and Deo have always tended to butt heads, but this is different. He can’t help but feel that he made a mistake in letting him go, even though he was right.

Another hour. Louis and Liam huddle at the dining table whispering about something. Niall tries his best not to feel excluded. Harry puts his head in Niall’s lap and starts snoring lightly, clearly dead tired. Willie keeps texting Deo, keeps calling him, and Niall falls asleep to the sound of his ringtone.

At 6:00, Niall wakes up. Harry has disappeared, probably in the bathroom or sitting with Liam. He gets to his feet shakily, stretching and ignoring the look Laura’s giving him where she sits slumped across the room, like it’s his fault Deo’s such an stubborn prick. The air feels too stuffy, so he nudges the side door and steps into the backyard, shivering instantly.

And the thing is, Niall’s not a superstitious person. He’s not normally one to believe in fate, or premonitions, or any of the icky, in-between, mysterious vague things that Harry trusts in. He’s always relied on what he can see, touch, feel. Things that are definite. Because some things don’t mean anything at all. Some gut feelings are just feelings. But there are times like this, Niall thinks, that he knows something bad is going to happen.

Maybe it’s the razor sharp chill to the air, or the way the fog refuses to recede, or the way the street lights he can see over the fence keep flickering. _On, off, on, off._ Maybe it’s how the sun should be rising right about now except there’s nothing but a solid gray sky. Or how a flock of birds all alight on a telephone wire at the same time, cocking their heads and fixing him with their beady eyes, _one, two, three, four_.

It gives him a bad feeling, somewhere deep inside.

The door slides open behind him, and someone steps out, their familiar scent washing over him. He doesn’t have to turn around to see it’s Liam.

“D’you think he’s alright?” Liam says, and Niall just shrugs.

“Dunno.” He sees the bright flash of Liam’s lighter out of the corner of his eye, the flame flickering as Liam brings his hand up to protect it from the wind and light his cig. Smoke blows in his face when he exhales, and Niall coughs a little, prompting Liam to step back and apologize hastily.

“S'fine,” he mutters. Normally the smell of cigarette smoke is comforting, reminds him of Liam and Louis and evenings just like this where they would step out and shoot the shit for hours, but now it just makes him feel queasy.

That bad feeling he’d had is justified barely ten seconds later. A bone-chilling howl pierces the misty silence, and Liam fumbles his lighter, the clatter as it falls to the ground echoing in Niall’s ears.

“Deo,” he manages to get out, just before Deo’s space in his head is filled with jumbled words like blood spattered across the pavement. _Here, they’re here, you were right, they’re here, help me, help me, help_

 _WHERE ARE YOU,_ Niall thinks back, adrenaline making him shaky as he stumbles back inside the house with Liam hot on his heels. He can hear the rest of the pack already racing out of the front door, panicked yelling filling the hallway. But Harry, too deep a sleeper, is still lying on the couch.

 _LAKE,_ he hears in his head as he shakes Harry’s shoulder violently. Liam hurries past him to join the rest of the pack.

“Harry, c’mon,” he mutters, pulling him to his feet. Harry is blinking rapidly, eyes wide and startled.

“What?”

“They got Deo,” he says, grabbing his hand and leading him down the hallway, out of the house, slamming the front door shut behind them and not bothering to lock it.

 _HURRY,_ he hears Liam say in his head, and he starts sprinting down the street, Harry keeping pace with him even as he stumbles over his own feet.

Niall thinks, not for the first time, that it’s a good thing their town is so small. It barely takes them six minutes to reach the edge of the infrastructure, and three after they shift under the cover of shadows in the still-sleepy forest, birds not even awake and chirping yet. It’s eerie, the pale gray light casting everything in a kind of monochrome. Niall doesn’t pay attention to any of it, just focuses on the familiar burn of his muscles as he races towards the lake, on the heels of the pack with Harry’s breath hot and heavy behind him.

The closer they get, the more pungent the Canyon pack’s now-familiar scent becomes - and then they’re bursting through the treeline surrounding the water. Niall’s eyes flit over everything, taking the scene in.

He can see Deo being edged into the lake, his pelt dripping with blood as he lets out a trembling snarl. It’s no threat to the three Canyon wolves stalking towards him, and they don’t seem much deterred when Laura launches herself bodily at all of them, Bressie joining her a heartbeat later. Liam darts in and wedges himself between the Canyon wolves and Deo, protecting him. The tide starts to shift when Louis and Willie add themselves into the mix, taking down the wolf on the left. The situation is pretty much under control, and Niall lets himself relax the slightest bit.

And then his ears prick up, fear freezing his blood as he recognizes the thrum of paws coming towards them from the trees. Barely a second passes between him and Harry turning around and when a massive white wolf lunges out of the shadows, followed by at least six others, their jaws slavering and open as they swarm down the slope.

Niall’s brought down almost instantly, senses overwhelmed, teeth ripping into his shoulder as he growls and tries in vain to push them off. He loses sight of Harry in the tussle, his green eyes disappearing from view as another wolf lunges for him.

His vision flickers white with pain as one sinks their fangs into his foreleg, a thunderous snarl escaping his jaws. He twists, instinct and years of practice finally kicking in as he flips the wolf over, digging his claws in and trying not to shudder as they plunge into tender flesh. The wolf underneath him howls, and then he’s slammed aside as the second barrels into him.

He and the new wolf pitch down the slope towards the lake, splashing into the frigid water. He swallows a mouthful on accident as he struggles to his feet, and then his head’s being forced underwater, claws pricking at the skin of his jaw as the wolf literally stands on top of his skull. He blinks, snarling and watching the bubbles swirl around his face, but he’s powerless, completely unable to move. His lungs are screaming, muscles aching, he can feel his vision fading--and then the pressure is gone, and he surges to the surface, gasping for breath.

He shakes the water out of his eyes to see Harry closing his teeth around the wolf’s leg, claws pricking into his chest, a rage like Niall’s never seen before lighting up his eyes as he bites down harder. There’s a sickening crack, and then Harry lets go, leaving the wolf to whimper and thrash in agony in the shallow water.

Niall doesn’t have time to check if Harry’s alright, just turns around and launches himself at the wolf thrashing around on Louis’ back, tearing claws through fur and skin and snapping his teeth at anything within his reach, anger swelling up in his lungs as Louis limps back into the fight.

If he was in his right mind, he would be disgusted with himself for how satisfied he is when she starts whimpering, when he closes his jaws around her throat. Not hard enough to break skin, but enough to leave a rainbow of bruises when she shifts back. All he knows is she hurt Louis, and she won’t walk away the same from it.

But no anger he’s ever felt compares to the white-hot fury he feels in his gut when he hears Harry - _scream,_ is the only word he can use. He lets go of the wolf under him without a second thought, twisting around and hurtling straight for the pair of wolves Harry is pinned underneath. In the four seconds it takes to reach him, he sees one of the wolves tear their claws down Harry’s exposed stomach, blood blooming in their wake, sees the glint of pained tears in Harry’s eyes.

That’s all it takes for rage to fucking consume him. His ears start ringing. Everything else mutes out as he takes on both wolves at once, lashing out with every last bit of fight in him.

He doesn’t even know how he does it, really. He’s never been able to fight off two at once, and he’s considerably smaller in stature then these two massive monsters of animals. He doesn’t know anything except the metallic taste of blood in his mouth, the burn in his chest, the need to destroy. _You hurt him_ , he thinks, latching on to one, slicing his claws down her side, snapping his jaws around empty air as she squirms away. He finally gets a hold on her, closes his teeth around his throat and relishes the squeal she lets out, her tail beating against the ground in a plea. _Now pay for it._  

He sees Harry lunge for the other wolf out of the corner of his eyes, his breath coming heavy through his nose as he digs his teeth in harder. He’s so close to breaking skin, to irreparable damage. _To murder,_ a faint voice in his head says. He’s killed countless vampires before, but werewolves are different. When they shift, they’re human. They’re people just like him, albeit enemies.

He holds her there for a heartbeat more, hesitating, and then he lets go, leaning back as she scurries to her feet and then sprints off back towards the trees, tail tucked between her legs.

Niall turns, sees Willie on his back twenty yards away, his paws scrambling pitifully for purchase on the slick-furred wolf above him.

He races towards them - barks, once, and that’s all it takes for 200 pounds of muscle to turn its attention to him, lips curled in a snarl that sends chills down Niall’s spine.

He growls right back, trying to feel threatening, his paws slipping on the smooth rocks in the water. There’s a voice in his head screaming at him to run and never look back, but all it takes is one look at Willie’s bloodied fur, his terrified eyes, for it to shut right up.

He leaps straight for the wolf, but it barely makes an impact. The wolf raises one giant paw and bats him away as easily as if he was a fly. _Well, fuck,_ he thinks, and then his vision flickers black as the wolf crashes back into him, Niall’s head knocking back sharply against the rocks. Water splashes everywhere as he struggles to twist out of the wolf’s grip, trying to keep him from getting teeth around his throat.

He finally manages to bring his hind leg up and wedge it between his exposed stomach and the wolf keeping him pinned down, kicking out with as much power as he can muster. The wolf stumbles back with a wheeze, shaking his fur out, looking vaguely surprised.

Niall leaps for him again, and again, blood roaring in his ears every time he’s shunted away. He keeps going, keeps biting down and slicing through till the wolf’s panting and looking at him with blood dripping into his wide eyes, shocked that such a little wolf could pack so much punch. 

 _Surprise,_ he thinks drily, as Liam bursts in out of nowhere and slams into the wolf’s side, toppling him over. Niall watches them tumble into the water. Liam seems far more competent with the mangy arsehole than he was, so he casts his gaze around, catching his breath and looking for another fight.

But there isn’t one. Most of the Canyon wolves have fled, disappearing into the shadows. There’s only two left: the one still struggling with Liam and one pinning Laura down. The second wolf races away, though, when Bressie steps towards them, and when Louis goes in to help Liam the last wolf realizes it’s game over as well. Niall watches Louis chase the massive fleaball all the way up the slope and into the trees, coming back with his head held high.

The air is still, suddenly, a jarring contrast to the howls of pain that had filled his ears not moments ago. There’s nothing but his own heavy breathing and the crunch of rocky sand underneath paws as the pack circles together by the water’s edge.

Niall is the first to shift, collapsing on the nearest boulder like his bones have been reduced to jelly. The body of a wolf can take a lot more wear and tear than a human one can, and he’s never felt that fact so viciously as he does right now.

“You,” Louis starts, panting for breath as he comes to sit next to Niall. He’s pointing at Deo, who’s crouched on the ground, hand covering his bloodied side. “Are the stupidest goddamn fuckface I’ve ever met.”

No one disagrees with him. Even Willie is glaring at Deo, hair sticking up in all directions and his mouth in a deep frown. He looks like an angry bird.

“I - I know. I made a mistake,” Deo stammers, avoiding their eyes. Niall scoffs audibly, glancing over at Harry so they can share a look that says _can you believe this asshole?_ But Harry’s sitting a few feet away, still a wolf, his eyes flashing listlessly towards Niall’s when he feels his gaze.

And then he sees the blood.

Harry’s soaked in it, his normally brown fur now a sickening shade of scarlet. It’s dripping down from a cut on his forehead, it’s oozing from a gash on his chest, it’s staining the rocky sand below him. And Niall notices, with a sinking, sinking feeling, that Harry’s eyes are starting to slide shut.

“Harry?” he whispers, fear crawling up his spine.  

Harry looks at him one more time. And then he faints.

Niall jerks forward, thudding to his knees in the sharp rocks, and reaches for Harry, pulls his unconscious body into his lap with trembling hands, stunned senseless. He looks up, finds Liam’s gaze--but he’s just as wide-eyed as Niall, just as useless.  

His rational thought jumps into action a second later, trying to stave off the panic as his gaze snaps to Bressie. “Take him,” he blurts, standing up and struggling to support Harry’s weight. “Take him!”

Bressie lurches forward, scooping Harry up into his arms like he weighs nothing.

  
“We need to get him to Perrie,” Niall orders breathlessly, glancing away sharply at the sight of Harry’s head lolling from side to side in Bressie’s arms. “She can help him. Go, _go!_ ”

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

_**confoveo**_. Latin, meaning: to care for

 

(x)

 

The familiar scent of lavender washes over him as he enters the dimly lit house, but Niall doesn’t even have time to wrinkle his nose at it. It’s like he’s got tunnel vision, and the only thing he can see is Bressie’s broad shoulders in front of him and the tip of Harry’s tail swaying limply as he hurries up the stairs, following Perrie. Niall’s heart is thudding too fast in his chest, fear seizing his limbs. _He can’t die, he can’t die, he can’t fucking die._

Perrie opens the second door on the right, flicking on the lights as she heads inside. Niall follows close behind, bumping face-first into Bressie’s back when he pauses abruptly to give Perrie more room.

“When I said I wanted to meet him, I didn’t mean like this,” she mutters, grabbing armfuls of jars from the wooden shelves and setting them on the countertop next to the large wooden table, “Alright, set him down here.”

Bressie lays Harry’s limp body down on the table. His paws are still caked with dirt and blood, and nearly his entire coat is stained red. He can’t shake the image of Harry collapsing to the ground, gushing blood everywhere, eyes dull and unresponsive as Bressie had picked him up.

“Can you get him to shift?” Perrie asks suddenly, turning to him. “I can’t work on him while he’s still, you know. Furry.”

“I can’t if he’s unconscious.”

“Right,” Perrie grimaces. “Well, there’s a fix for that.” She reaches out and grips Harry’s shoulder, and Niall can see the muscles in her hand flex as she squeezes the open wound there hard. 

Harry comes to with a sharp yelp that makes Niall flinch, but relief floods him anyways. At least he has visible confirmation that he’s alive, now.

“Hey, H,” he mutters, reaching out again to rest his hand on Harry’s skull, trying to comfort him. Harry’s dazed eyes shift to meet his, recognition flickering weakly in them. He smooths a thumb between his eyes, voice shaking as he speaks, and tries to ignore the slowly expanding pool of blood beneath Harry’s body. “I know being a wolf is fun, but it’s time to come back, pet.” Harry’s eyes flutter closed again, and worry stabs through Niall’s chest. “Can you do that for me? Please?”

It takes a minute, but Harry starts shifting. It’s a slower process than normal, nothing like the fluid transformations Niall’s seen so many times, but it happens all the same. The fur recedes into skin, claws shorten into blunt nails, limbs reform and bones crack but the blood stays. The dirty, jagged open wounds stay, and the pain stays. When Harry opens his eyes again, he’s gasping, his breath stuttering as he looks wildly around the room, confused.

Niall doesn’t even have the chance to speak before Perrie waves a ringed hand over Harry’s face and he slips out of consciousness again, body going lax.

“What was that for?” Niall snaps, whirling to face her, but his anger dies down when he sees the look on her face. She’s gone pale, looks at a bit of a loss. “Perrie?”

“He’s in critical condition, Niall,” she says quietly, already reaching for her instruments. “I need you to leave so I can focus.”

“But you can heal him, right?”

“Yes, but it’ll take time and I can’t do it if you’re here. You need to leave.”

“No.”

“Niall--”

“I’m not leaving him--”

“Niall!” Bressie barks from behind him, and he winces. “Let her work.”

“But--”

Bressie grabs his arm and starts dragging him out of the room despite Niall’s protests and his futile efforts to squirm away. The door shuts in his face, and only then is he let go.

“I’m waiting out here, then,” Niall tells him quickly, and Bressie fixes him with a hard look.

“You won’t go in till Perrie gives the okay, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Promise me.”

“I promise.”

“Fine,” Bressie nods, and then he’s going down the stairs, leaving Niall slumped against the wall and trying not to feel like this is his worst nightmare come true.

 

 

\---

 

 

 

Three long, long hours pass. He’s still sitting outside the door, his bum sore. All the adrenaline faded within thirty minutes after the fight, leaving nothing but exhaustion and pain in more places than he cares to count. He’s pretty sure he has a mild concussion and at least one broken rib, judging by the vicious sting in his chest every time he breathes and the dizziness that overtakes him even when he’s sitting down. Bile rises in his throat every time he glances down at his hands, still covered in Harry’s blood.

Thankfully, none of the pack have any life-threatening injuries, nothing that can’t wait. They pass by him on the way to the bathroom, taking turns having showers and getting clean. He hears them bandaging each other up, comparing battle wounds, laughing quietly and chattering like nothing’s happened.

And maybe for them, nothing has. Nothing earth-shattering, at least. But Niall’s whole world is six feet away and Niall can’t get to him, can’t help him, can’t save him. Harry’s life rests solely in Perrie’s hands now, and of course Niall trusts her, but magic, like anyone knows, is a tricky, fickle thing. There’s always the off chance that it doesn’t work. And the possibility of that off chance coming to fruition is what has Niall crying into his hands while he sits on the floor barely ten feet away from Harry, trying to keep his sobs quiet so that no one downstairs hears him.

Another silent half hour passes before Louis comes up the stairs and asks him what the fuck he’s doing sitting on the floor like that. He’s the one who drags Niall downstairs, eventually, despite his protests - literally manhandling him down the steps and into the kitchen because he says Niall will pass out if he doesn’t get some food in him.

The pack is scattered about when he gets there with Louis close behind him. None of them are moving much, no arm wrestling or lively arguments like there normally would be. They’re all still in a lot of physical pain since Perrie’s tied up helping Harry and can’t heal them yet.

“Did you see the alpha today?” Laura is asking Bressie, frowning. Niall brushes past her, reaching for the last grilled cheese on the plate on the counter. “Because I didn’t.”

“I didn’t either,” Bressie shakes his head.  
  
“Probably don’t wanna risk it,” Niall suggests, his voice still embarrassingly raw from crying. He clears his throat as he sits down, brushes the crumbs off the front of his shirt. “Doesn’t think a fight with us is important enough.”

“D’you think they’re gone?” Deo says suddenly. Niall turns around to glance at him, and has the strongest urge to slap him upside the head. Doesn’t know what particularly for, just. Looks like he needs it. “Did we beat them?”

Louis scoffs. “‘Beat them?’ Yeah, right. They’ll be back soon enough.”

“Not immediately. I think we put up a good fight,” Liam assures them, his eyebrows drawn together. They remind Niall vaguely of caterpillars. Friendly, bushy caterpillars, always trying to keep the peace. “But eventually, they will be.”

There’s a pause, and then Liam looks to him. “Is Harry okay?”

Niall shrugs stiffly. “No idea.” His gaze flashes to Deo, unable to resist it. “But he would be fucking fine and dandy if _you_ hadn’t gone storming off in the middle of the night.”

“Look, I’m sorry, okay?” Deo snaps, eyes hard. “I made a mistake, and I apologized for it."

“Why were you at the lake, anyways? Why the fuck would you go there?”

“I was--I was going to talk to the nymphs around there to see if they’d seen anything recently--”

“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Look, I said I was sorry!”

“Sorry doesn’t cut it, you idiot!” Niall shouts, anger rising in his chest. He can feel himself going red in the face, but he doesn’t care. “You put the whole pack in danger, and any one of us could have died! Harry’s up there right now bleeding to death because you couldn’t sit still for an hour!”

“Well it’s not my fault your little boyfriend couldn’t protect himself for two fucking seconds!”

Niall’s chair screeches against the wood floor as he gets to his feet, fists clenched at his side. Everyone in the room is staring wide eyed at him, staring wide eyed at Deo, heads whipping back and forth like they’re watching a tennis match.

“Say that,” he snarls, ignoring the way Liam rises as well, moving in between him and Deo, “One more time.”

Deo rises to the occasion, because of course he does. “I said, it’s not my fault your--”

Niall lunges for him faster than Liam can react. He brings Deo to the ground, gets in exactly two good punches before there’s Bressie’s hands on his arms yanking him away, holding him back as Deo’s hands fly to his face like Niall broke his fucking cheekbone or something. _Overdramatic son of a bitch,_ he thinks furiously, knuckles stinging.

“Go fuck yourself!” Niall bites out at the same time Deo yells _fuck you!_

He’s raring to go again, to _really_ break the fucker’s nose this time, but Bressie’s twice his size and triple his strength. He couldn’t move an inch under his grip if he tried.

He’s locked away, after that, confined to the bedroom next to the one in which Perrie and Harry are. Bressie’s been stationed outside his door, and Deo’s free to do whatever the hell he wants.

Niall flops on the musty bed and stares up at the ceiling with his hands tucked underneath his head like a moody teenager, thinking about how he’d like to shove Deo down a flight of stairs.

It doesn’t take him long to fall asleep. He doesn’t know how long he’s out for, only that when he wakes up, it looks like it’s afternoon outside, sunlight casting across the town and through the window.

He realizes, belatedly, that the sheets on the bed are now dirty from where he’d laid on them, so he scoops them up into his arms and shuffles over to the door before knocking lightly. There’s no response, so he tries the doorknob, realizing with satisfaction that it’s unlocked now.

He steps into the hallway. Harry’s door is still closed, and he thinks about checking in on him but squashes the thought a moment later. He doesn’t fancy being yelled at again.

It takes a lot of effort to go down the stairs without tripping, but he makes it to the laundry room, shoving the sheets into the washer and starting it. He roots around in the cabinet where Perrie keeps their spare clothes (they’d gotten into a habit of keeping some of their things in her house after the first couple fights ended badly and they needed to crash here while they healed) and then trots back up the stairs and into the bathroom.

Showering is painful, to say the least. He’s covered in cuts and bruises and scratches, ten times worse than the aftermath of his fight with the vampires. It feels like his whole body is on fire as the lukewarm water pours over his skin, washing away the sweat and the dirt. The pain distracts him from worrying too hard about Harry, anyways.

By the time he comes out and starts toweling himself off carefully, he feels marginally better. He recognizes some semblance of cleanliness when he looks in the mirror, at least, and although his ribcage is screaming in pain, there doesn’t seem to be any other major injuries. 

Niall bandages himself up, wrapping gauze around his arms where the bleeding hasn’t stopped and disinfecting the rest of his cuts with rubbing alcohol that has tears pricking at his eyes with how bad it stings.

The house is quiet when he emerges from the bathroom, hair still damp and sticking up in all directions from towelling it dry. He decides to check on Harry anyways, and he’s standing in front of the door, just about to knock, when it flies open to reveal Perrie standing there with a frazzled expression on her face.

“How is he?” he blurts instantly, resisting the urge to peer past her into the room.

Perrie reaches up, drawing the back of her hand across her forehead to wipe off the sweat. Niall can see blood stains on her arms. “Not quite good as new,” she sighs, wiping her palms off on her jeans. “I’ve stopped the bleeding and closed the wounds, but he’ll have to rest for a few days so the magic holds.”

“So he’ll have to stay here?”

“Yeah, sorry. I’m afraid he’ll fall apart again if he moves around that much. Gotta supervise him.”

“That’s alright,” Niall assures her, fingers twitching by his side. “Can I - can I see him, though?”

“He’s not awake.”

“I know,” he breathes, running a hand through his hair. “I just need to see him.”

Perrie smiles vaguely at him, stepping aside and moving to leave, but Niall grabs her hand quickly.

“Thank you,” he says, trying to pour as much gratitude as he can into those two words. “You saved his life. I don’t know if I could ever thank you enough for that.”

Perrie’s smile grows bigger, softer. “You’re welcome.” She pats Niall’s hand gently before turning and disappearing down the stairs.

And then Niall’s left alone in the room, surrounded by dusty wooden shelves and glass jars and ingredients and potions and the buzzing traces of Perrie’s magic, and. Harry, who’s still lying on his back on the table. There’s a pillow under his head now, curls splayed out in stark contrast to the bright white of the pillowcase, and a wool blanket pulled up to his shoulders.

Niall moves as close as he dares, his thighs bumping the edge of the table. He reaches out gingerly, brushes away a strand of hair from Harry’s forehead, chest warming when Harry sniffles in his sleep and leans towards his touch. At that moment, Niall couldn’t care less about his probably-fractured rib or the fear gathering in the back of his mind. Harry’s okay, and that’s all that matters right now.

He leans over and presses a feather-light kiss to Harry’s cheek, and then nearly shits himself when Harry’s eyes flash open with a startled gasp.

“Jesus!” Niall breathes, hand flying to his chest. “Warn a guy, Harry.”

Harry blinks at him, disoriented, and then beams, dimples deep. “Niall.”

“Hi.”

“Are you alright?” Harry asks, eyebrows furrowing as his eyes flash over Niall’s body like he can see the wounds through his clothes. Niall shoves his hands into his pockets self-consciously.

“You’re the one that nearly bled to death, H,” he laughs weakly, then winces when his rib flares in pain. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

“You don’t need to worry about me.” Niall reaches out and taking Harry’s hand carefully while Harry frowns and opens his mouth to protest. “How are you feeling?”

“Like shit,” he replies brightly, rubbing his thumb over Niall’s knuckles. “Feel like someone stuck me in a blender and then slapped me back together again.”

Niall winces. “That’s a little graphic.”

“How’s the rest of the pack?”

“They’re alright.” He hesitates, thinking about about his sore knuckles. “Yeah, they’re all good.”

“What about Deo?”

“He, uh - Deo?”  

“I could hear you from up here,” Harry smirks. “Did you get a good punch in?”

Niall grins back. “Two.”

“One for you, one for me,” Harry sighs, content, and Niall laughs.

His smile fades slowly, though, and so does Harry’s. He squeezes Harry’s hand tighter. “Thought I lost you, for a second,” he mutters, voice rough, and Harry’s expression turns miserable.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, Haz,” he shakes his head. “Just gave me a scare, is all.” Which is a massive understatement, but he’s not gonna say that.

“I know,” Harry whispers, sighing heavily and glancing somewhere over Niall’s shoulder. “I think I’m gonna be confined to this bed for a while.”

“You are, probably for a couple days. I’ll stay with you.”

“You don’t have to,” Harry starts to say through a massive yawn, but Niall shakes his head, eyes catching on the points of Harry’s canines.

“I want to.”

Harry gives him one last smile before his eyes start to slide shut and he says, “I’m pretty sure I’m gonna pass out soon, so. Good night, I guess.”

“Afternoon,” Niall corrects quietly, and Harry snorts.

“Love you,” he whispers, eyes already closed, but Niall doesn’t let go of his hand just yet.

“Love you too.”

 

 

\---

 

 

Harry spends much of the next two days living like a king. Niall helps him shower and get dressed, reads to him, plays Perrie’s old guitar for him, even feeds him - though half of those things are based less in necessity and more in Harry using excuses to get pampered and taking advantage of the fact that Niall can’t say no.

He sleeps a lot, though, which gives Niall the chance to spend time with Perrie or get out of the house and see the rest of the pack (since even though Harry says he can do it whenever he wants, and doesn’t have to be entertaining Harry in his every waking moment, Niall would rather be there as much as possible when Harry’s conscious.)

Perhaps most miraculously, he manages to be in the same room as Deo without hurting him. Niall can see the bulge of an overly thick bandage around his middle, like some life threatening injury lies under it, even though Perrie informed him the cut’s only about an inch deep.

Niall’s got his own array of much deeper wounds still healing, though he’s nowhere near the fragile state Harry’s in. Perrie had to use more powerful magic to patch him together, and it’ll take some time to fully work.

But - anyways. Deo’s sat across the room from him, throwing him dirty glances every now and then while Niall stares at the mottled bruise on his face with a growing sense of pride.

“Effectively,” Liam’s saying, hands spread wide on his thighs as he leans forward, “They’ve disappeared, and we don’t know where they are. None of the nymphs are willing to work with us anymore, so we haven’t got any updates from them.”

“Because they’re cowards,” Louis says, folding his arms across his chest. “Too scared to move an inch from their stupid trees.”

“They’re looking out for their own safety,” Liam corrects, a reprimanding tone to his voice. “Just like we are. We can’t expect them to put their lives on the line for us.”

Louis grumbles incoherently.

“And your point is…” Niall trails off, drumming his fingers impatiently on his thigh.

“We need to have a fallback,” Liam says, and Niall’s heart clenches nervously in his chest. “In case things don’t go as planned, we need to be able to get out of here quick.”

“Two cars should fit us,” Bressie suggests. “Mine and Louis’s.”

Liam nods, and Niall swallows down the acidic taste in the back of his mouth. “Let’s get packing, then.”

 

 

\---

 

 

The house is eerily quiet and hollow when he arrives, his fingers finding the light switch automatically and blinking at the sudden brightness of the hallway. He should be getting a move on, but he stays where he is for a minute, heart hanging heavy in his chest.

This is routine, is the thing. Every time an enemy pack gets too close, every time the tide starts turning, Liam tells them they need a fallback. But this time, those words feel damning. They feel too permanent, too solid, too real. It doesn’t feel like a plan B, it feels like their only course of action, and Niall can’t handle it.

Can’t handle the thought of leaving home, leaving this house, leaving the people, the forest, the smell of fresh bacon every time he walks into the diner or the soothing chatter in the cafe. He’s grown up here, in the quiet streets, in the misty woods. His surroundings have been the one constant in his life since - forever, really. His little slice of safety in a world that sank its claws into him too soon, that threatened the happiness of him and everyone around him.

He just doesn’t want to _leave_.

Niall steels himself and goes through the house, starting in his bedroom and pulling his duffel bag from out under his bed. He focuses on nothing but the mindless task of throwing clothes in, grabbing shirts and socks and jeans and folding them neatly into the bag. He packs his toiletries next, and then stuffs all the loose cash in the house into the zippered pocket inside the duffel. Next is his spare switchblade, a flashlight, two jars of Perrie’s salves, _The Collected Poems of Emily Dickinson_. He goes to Harry’s bedroom, does the same, though he picks only the more practical clothing and not the sheer flowery blouses he’s got masses of.

He meets the rest of the pack at Bressie’s house to load their things into the back. Nobody says much of anything. Louis claps him on the back, squeezes his shoulder, and Niall gives Liam a quick hug goodbye before he gets back in the car and drives to Perrie’s.

He finds Harry on the couch, hair mussed and rubbing at his eyes with the sleeve of his hoodie, His eyes light up when he sees Niall, tells him that Perrie’s upstairs, that he’s allowed to move around the house since his wounds don’t hurt as much.

Niall orders them pizza and then squishes himself between a frilly throw pillow and Harry’s warm body, careful not to put any pressure on him while they watch whatever’s on TV. At least, Harry does. Niall just stares blankly at the screen. The noise seeps in through his ears and then gets lost in the gray sea of everything he’s keeping locked down inside, unprocessed and unintelligible. He feels a bit numb, a bit panicky, a bit miserable. All sorts, really.

The only good feeling comes when Harry leans into his side, letting his head fall to his shoulder, curls tickling Niall’s neck and ending up in his mouth, inevitably. He makes a big show of spitting it out, pretending to gag, which makes Harry frown. _Thought you said you liked my hair long,_ he grumbles. Niall laughs, _doesn’t mean I wanna eat it,_ and Harry sighs for a long time before positioning himself carefully so he can lay his head down on Niall’s stomach.

He realizes, belatedly, that this is Harry’s way of comforting him. Even though he doesn’t know what’s bothering Niall, he knows he’s hurting, and he’s tried fixing it as best he can. As best as he knows how to.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Niall says softly, feels Harry smile against his stomach, and the unraveling inside his chest stops, for now.

 

 

\---

 

 

Niall wakes up the next morning with Harry splayed on top of him, limbs pinning him to the bed. He vaguely remembers stumbling upstairs sleepily last night, denying Harry his request of being carried up the steps princess-style, the floorboards creaking underneath their weight.

He blinks, wrestling his numb arm out from in between their bodies to rub at his eyes. Bright sunlight spills through the windows, making the downy hair on Harry’s arms glow golden. Niall watches the rise and fall of Harry’s ribcage as he breathes. He looks startlingly young while asleep, his lips parted slightly, brow knitted together like he’s miffed at something in his dream.

Niall wriggles out from underneath him as gently as possible. Harry grunts softly when Niall slips off the bed, but doesn’t wake up, so Niall continues creeping out of the room on his tiptoes.

He finds Perrie in the kitchen, sitting at the island and sipping at her tea. “Good morning, blondie,” she greets him, before dropping her attention back to the newspaper splayed out on the countertop.

“Mornin’, blondie,” Niall echoes, opening the fridge and sniffing loudly. “When did you wake up?”

“About an hour ago. How are you doing, by the way? Body holding up?”

He nods, glancing down at his arms. “Well enough, thanks to you.”

“And, uh,” Perrie pauses to wave a finger around her head. “How about up here?”

Niall hesitates. He closes the fridge and slouches against the counter instead, the edge digging into his hip through the soft material of his joggers. “I’ll be okay.”

“No, c’mon,” she presses, folding her arms up on the counter and leaning forward. “Tell me."

“It’s the same as always,” Niall shrugs, wrapping one hand around his left forearm, fingernails digging in familiarly. “Can’t sleep unless I’m absolutely knocked out. Don’t really wanna think about it. It’s not bothering me that much, though, I’m completely fine.”

“But your nerves are frayed,” Perrie argues, though her tone is gentle. “You can’t keep pushing yourself, Niall. First Harry showing up, then the trip to Red Bluff, panicking about the pack and rushing back home. Deo leaving, the fight, Harry nearly dying, and now you have to worry about another attack. You’ve - been through a lot, recently, even for you.”

“It’s nothing compared to what’s happened before,” Niall insists. “I’m fine.” Though he has to admit he has been feeling rattled for the past week. Everything’s got him on edge, and he doesn’t know if it’s paranoia or not, but he does know that he feels so keyed up he’s pretty sure the next loud noise will make him snap.

“Will you let me give you something, though?” Perrie urges. “I don’t want to see you having a breakdown, and that’s where this is headed, at this rate.”

“It’s not,” he says stubbornly, “but okay.” Perrie relaxes back into her seat, and Niall reopens the fridge, stomach gurgling loudly.

“Give you what?” Someone prompts from behind him, and he jumps, heart skipping a beat.

“Nothing,” he says quickly, turning around to see Harry standing in the doorway. “And you’ve got to stop sneaking up on me like that.”

Harry smiles, eyes still narrowed like the light in the kitchen is too bright for him. “It’s funny.”

“Good morning, Harold,” Perrie butts in, and Harry blinks at her like he’s only just noticed her sitting there.

“Morning.”

“How’re you feeling?”

“Alright, actually,” Harry says as he pulls the fridge open. Niall watches as he shuffles over to the toaster and shoves two slices of bread in. “Loads better than Wednesday.”

“I think you two should be good to go by this afternoon, then. Or you could go right now if you’re ready. Not that you haven’t been excellent houseguests.” Perrie smiles, and Niall rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, we get it. We’ll be out of here by noon.”

Thirty minutes later, Niall finds himself lying flat on his back in Perrie’s spare bedroom staring up at the ceiling. Perrie’s beside the bed, trying to get Niall’s little quick fix to just the right consistency. He’s pretty sure Harry’s downstairs trying to reason with Delilah, the orange tabby cat that comes in and out of the house as she pleases, likes to strut around as if she owns the place, and scratch people whenever she feels like it.

“Why don’t you want Harry knowing?” Perrie asks quietly, reaching for Niall’s hand and pulling it towards her. Her fingers are cold. “That you’re worried. And stressed enough to actually let me use one of my salves on you.”  

“What d’you mean ‘actually’? I use ‘em all the time.” He suppresses a shiver as she smooths a thin layer of the gel over the pulse in his wrist. It tingles a bit, and it’s cold, but it’s not unpleasant. He reaches over so she can do the same to his other.

“Not these ones, though.”

Niall sighs as his skin absorbs the gel and draws it into his bloodstream. The effect instantaneous. It feels like someone’s just given him a very thorough full body massage, all his muscles loose and pliant. It also feels a bit like the pleasant haze he gets when he shares a joint with Louis, because for (some) intents and purposes, this particular salve is a bit like weed. It relaxes him just enough, hits all the right spots. “It’s because I don’t have the time. You know the side effects of this can take over an hour to wear off.”

“Busy man, are you?” Perrie smirks, sitting down on the bed and ignoring his groan of protest when her weight rests on his shin.

“You don’t even know the half of it,” Niall says, blinking up at the ceiling again. “And I don’t want Harry worrying about me, anyways. He’d go nuts if he knew I was doing this.”

“For good reason.”

“Yeah, but. Still. I’m fine. I’m _fine,_ ” he repeats when Perrie gives him a skeptical look. “This is nothing close to how much of a mess I was after I got turned. Was having a meltdown every other day back then, seemed like.”

“What do you think the odds are of you guys beating the other pack?” Perrie says, jerking the conversation into a different direction. “Louis told me the details of what happened. Doesn’t look too good, according to him.”

“I think,” Niall starts, closing his eyes. “I think we should worry about that later.”

“Not in the mood?” Perrie snorts, giving him a hard pat on the leg as she stands up, and he scowls at her. “Right. Let me know when you come back down.”

Niall barely even registers her leaving the room. He could do with a nap right about now, actually, and he’s barely finished having the thought before he slips out of consciousness.

 

 

\---

 

 

“Is it even safe for us to get drunk?” Harry mutters as the engine starts up, the night air cold and dark around them. “Shouldn’t we be alert? In case something happens?”

“We’re going to be,” Niall says as they peel out of the drive. “Half of us aren’t allowed to drink tonight. We’re not supposed to tell Louis, though, or he’ll start feeling guilty about it.”

Louis’s birthday party is beginning in less than a minute, and Liam’s been ringing him incessantly to tell him to hurry up. Obviously, as with every birthday party Louis’s ever had, there’s going to be alcohol involved, but it’s too dangerous for them to all be off their face in case the Canyon pack come knocking. It’s also why they drove here instead of walking in the dark, even though Liam and Louis’s house is barely a three minute walk from theirs. Getting attacked is unlikely, but they’re not in a position to take risks. Not so soon.

“Am I in the alcohol half or not?” Harry inquires.

“Louis, Liam, Willie and I were planning on drinking, if you’re alright with that.”

“Sounds perfect,” Harry says easily, grinning at him, dimples deep. Niall tries to hide his own smile in the collar of his coat, adjusting his grip on the wheel. He never forgets how gorgeous Harry is, but sometimes it just hits him with a little more force than usual.

They reach the house in another two minutes. Niall stops and glances at his reflection in the window as they slam the car doors closed, noting the slight glaze to his eye that’s still there even though it’s been hours since Perrie gave him the salve. Harry hasn’t said anything about it, though, so he must only be able to see it because he’s looking for it. He wonders if it’s safe to consume alcohol after that. _Time to find out._

“You’ll be dragging me home, sorry about that in advance,” he tells Harry as they trudge up the front walk. The window glimmers with light from the inside, and he can see the familiar shape of Liam’s broad shoulders through it. “I’m a bit of a messy drunk.”

“You? Messy?” Harry gapes exaggeratedly, shaking his head. “Never would have pinned you as a wild one, Horan.”

“Stuff it,” he laughs before knocking on Louis’s front door. It swings wide open after a few seconds, Liam’s face lighting up with a crinkly eyed smile.

“Niall!” he beams, wrapping him in a giant hug. Niall returns it as best he can with one hand holding Louis’s gift. “You made it! Was starting to get worried there for a bit.”

“If we ran into any trouble, I would’ve just run ‘em over,” Niall shrugs. Harry snorts. “Now where’s the birthday boy?” he asks at the same time Louis bellows _NIALL!_ from somewhere within the house.

He nudges gently past Liam, who starts asking Harry how he’s feeling, following Louis’s scent into the kitchen.

“Louis!”

“Niall!”

Niall nearly drops the gift bag as Louis launches himself at him and pulls him into a hug so tight he thinks he heard his spine pop. “Happy birthday, Tommo,” he laughs, rubbing a hand down Louis’s back.

“Why, thank you,” Louis preens as he pulls away, grinning when Niall hands him the gift bag. There’s a telltale glaze to his eye, and Niall tries to tamp down his laughter. Trust Louis to crack into the alcohol five minutes into his own birthday party. “God, it feels like it’s been ages since I last saw you.”

“It’s been less than 48 hours,” Niall points out, and Louis shrugs.

“Still feels like it. Hey, David!” He turns and waves at a dark-haired man across the room, and that’s when Niall realizes that the people at this party aren’t just members of the pack. He was so caught up in seeing Liam and finding Louis that he hadn’t stopped to pick out the unfamiliar scents in the house, like the man who owns the seedy tattoo parlor at the edge of town that’s got so many tats Niall can barely see his skin anymore, or a gangly, red-haired girl hanging out in the corner that he’s pretty sure is one of his co-workers from the grocery store. It’s like the whole town is in here. He’ll have to talk to Liam about putting more of the pack on the no-alcohol list, if it’s not too late.

He shakes himself out of his thoughts when he realizes Louis is talking. “David, this is Niall. Niall, this is David, one of the guys from the bakery. He makes the _best_ cinnamon rolls.” Then Louis gets dragged off somewhere, leaving Niall and David standing in the middle of the kitchen.

“Here, let’s get you a drink,” David laughs, fingertips finding Niall’s elbow as he leads him towards where the beer is, presumably. Niall’s glad when his touch falls away.

“Thanks.” He appraises David as quickly as possible when he hands him his drink. He smells like cigarette smoke and sugar, a strange combination; there’s a respectable amount of stubble on his jaw that Niall’s fairly jealous of, and laughter lines by his eyes.

“Niall, huh? I swear I’ve heard your name before,” David says, squinting at him like that’ll help.

“Really?” Niall arches an eyebrow, taking a swig of his beer. “I swear I’ve heard yours before too.”

David laughs at that, though it’s not all that funny, and Niall tries to relax a bit. David barely breaks eye contact as real conversation starts up, chatting aimlessly about the weather (the _weather,_ for god’s sake) and golf and whatnot. Niall’s not stupid. He sees the way David’s eyes keep dropping to his mouth whenever he drinks his beer, the way he tilts his head, leans in closer like he’s having trouble hearing him. He knows David’s interested, but Niall’s far from it. Maybe in a different life they’d have a drunken snog in the backyard, but not in this one. David’s handsome, sure, but he’s got nothing on Harry.

Harry, bless his heart, who appears by his side just as Niall’s struggling to excuse himself from the conversation.

“Harry?” David says suddenly, eyes lighting up in recognition. “Funny seeing you here!”

And, _right_ , didn’t Louis say David worked in the bakery? He doesn’t know how he failed to make that connection.

Harry smile seems stiff as he shakes David’s hand, and Niall can’t help but feel it’s a little cold for a coworker. “Hello, David.”

“D’you two know each other, as well?” David asks, pointing between the two of them.

If Niall couldn’t smell the possessiveness rolling off Harry before, he sure as hell feels it when he slips an arm around Niall’s waist and pulls him in closer, a smile plastered on his face.

“Well, I should _hope_ my own boyfriend knows me,” Harry says, grinning down at Niall, who smirks. Harry can’t be subtle to save his own life. “Do you know me, Niall?”

“Can’t remember,” Niall replies, laughing when Harry pouts.

“Where’ve you been, man? Haven’t seen you at work for ages,” David says, and Harry shrugs.

“Was feeling a bit under the weather.” Niall elbows him. “A lot under the weather, fine,” he corrects, earning a polite laugh from David.  

Harry’s arm doesn’t leave his waist for the entirety of the six minute conversation they have with David. David wanders off after a while, and Niall erupts into laughter almost immediately, twisting out of the circle of Harry’s arm.

“What?” Harry demands, though he’s laughing too. “What’s so funny?”

“‘I should _hope_ my own boyfriend knows me,’” Niall says, imitating Harry’s deep voice. “What the fuck was that?”

“What?” Harry grins. “You didn’t see the way he was looking at you, Niall. Had to--”

“Had to what? Assert your dominance?” Niall tries to take another sip of his beer but ends up not being able to drink any with how hard he’s laughing. “You’re an idiot.”

“ _Your_ idiot.” Harry grins stupidly. Niall slides a finger through his belt loop and pulls him closer, leaning up on his tiptoes to whisper in his ear.

“It was a little hot, though,” he admits, pulling back slightly to catch the wide smile on Harry’s face.

“Just a little?”

“Quit fishing for compliments,” he mutters, but kisses him hard anyways. Harry doesn’t even complain about the taste of beer in his mouth.

 

 

\---

 

 

Niall wanders through the kitchen, clutching a fresh bottle in his left hand. “Harry?” He calls, brow furrowing as he gets no response yet again. There’s still people milling about, Louis in the middle of them all, soaking up the attention like a sponge.

“Harryyyy,” he mutters under his breath, spinning around and trying to pick him out in the dim light. He’s nowhere to be seen. He’d insisted they leave the bathroom at separate times after Niall gave him a bloody spectacular blowjob, if he does say so himself, even though Niall insisted everyone was too drunk to care, including him. What else are bathrooms for, anyways?

And then he’d disappeared, Niall couldn’t find him anywhere in the house. He’s been looking for twenty minutes straight.

He spots Liam on the couch and throws himself down next to him, leaning in so he can be heard over the music. “Liam.”

“Niall,” Liam says seriously, turning to look at him. He’s even further gone than Niall is.

“Have you seen Harry?”

“Isn’t that him over there?” Liam frowns, pointing over Niall’s shoulder. He twists around to see Harry standing in the entry hall, the front door clicking shut just behind him.

“Harry!”

Harry ambles over, hands shoved into his pockets. He looks a bit pale. “I think it’s time to go home, Ni,” he says, patting Niall’s shoulder.

“Why?” Niall pouts, ready to argue, but the next couple minutes find him being dragged out of the house with a halfhearted goodbye to Liam and Louis.

“Harry,” he whines, squeezing Harry’s hand harder as he stumbles down the drive behind him.

“What is it, Niall,” Harry mumbles distractedly, fishing around in his pocket for the car keys. He keeps looking back and forth down the street, eyes wide.

“ _Harry,_ ” Niall whines, pushes Harry back against the car door before he can open it, grabbing his face and kissing him. Harry’s hands slide down automatically to the small of his back, the keys dangling between his fingers and pressing against Niall’s skin through his shirt.

Harry pulls away quickly, though, when Niall starts grinding down on his thigh. “Niall, as much as I’d love to do this in the middle of the street, we have to get home. You’re tired.”

“Am not,” Niall insists, twirling a strand of Harry’s hair around his finger and getting distracted instantly. “So pretty,” he mumbles, and the next thing he knows he’s being hoisted up, his feet leaving the ground. “Hey!”

Harry’s got him slung over his shoulder, walking around to the other side of the car, holding him in place with one hand and unlocking the door with the other. Niall would’ve protested more if he wasn’t busy getting fucking turned on by how strong his boyfriend is.

But Harry was right, and by the time they get home, Niall’s has all the mobility of a very exhausted sack of potatoes that can’t even make his way to the bedroom. Harry doesn’t carry him there, much to his dismay, but keeps an arm around him the whole way there to make sure he doesn’t trip over his own feet and crack his head open. He forces a glass of water down Niall’s throat once they reach the bed, and Niall promptly passes out afterwards, dead to the world. The last thing he feels is Harry’s hands on his feet, tugging his shoes off.

 

 

\---

 

 

Niall wakes up to the sound of someone crying.

He blinks rapidly in the dark, disoriented. He’s definitely still a little drunk, but feels surprisingly sober as he pushes himself up in bed, sheets pooling around his waist.

“Harry?”

No response. He reaches over Harry’s body to flick the lamp on, and Harry chooses that moment to start talking in his sleep.

“I can’t do it,” he mumbles. Niall stares down at him, frozen. His forehead is all screwed up in a deep frown, tears trembling on his eyelashes. “Can’t do it, can’t do it. Won’t do it...I love him.” Another sob escapes his lips. “I won’t do it. I’m not gonna...Zayn...don’t hurt him, not him!”

There’s tears streaming down Harry’s face now, sliding down into his hairline, ragged breaths making his chest heave. Niall’s heart breaks at the sight as he leans over him, debating whether or not to wake him up. This is the first time Harry’s ever had a nightmare - or rather, the first time Niall’s been woken up by one. He smooths the pad of his thumb over Harry’s cheeks, trying to wipe away the tears, leans over and kisses his forehead.

“Harry?” he whispers. There’s a sudden stutter in Harry’s breathing, but his eyes don’t open, and he stops sniffling, rolling over onto his side. Niall waits another minute to make sure he’s stopped crying before turning the light off, pulling the sheets back over himself and wrapping an arm around Harry’s waist, holding him close. It takes a long time for him to fall back asleep.

 

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorry for making you all wait two weeks!! i hope this chapter makes up for it. buckle up, it's gonna be a bumpy ride (:

_**aduro**_. Latin, meaning: to scorch, to burn, to set aflame. 

 

(x)

 

_“Why can’t I come?” Harry whines, barely restraining himself from tugging on Zayn’s shirt like a whiny four-year-old. “C’mon, Z.”_

_He’s been Zayn’s right hand man for three and half years now; there’s no reason for him to be chained up like a dog and told to sit quietly. They’ve been preparing for this attack for months, fortifying borders and negotiating and training harder than ever. Besides, Harry’s one of their best fighters. Without him on the front lines, they stand the risk of losing their territory._

_He only finds out later that Zayn already knew he wasn’t coming back when he left. That they didn’t stand a chance against the Canyon pack. That he was giving everyone false hope by telling them they could. That he wanted to spare Harry for as long as he was able, and the only way he could do that was by keeping him home._

_“You know why you can’t come,” Zayn sighs, infinitely patient. “If something goes wrong and I don’t come back, someone’s gotta take over, yeah?”_

_“Don’t say that,” he pouts, but steps away from the door so Zayn can leave the apartment. “You’re coming back. All of you are.”_

_“Yeah,” Zayn breathes, cupping the back of Harry’s neck and pulling him into a tight hug. He smells like cold sunshine and cigarette smoke. It’s over too soon, and then he’s stepping away, his lean frame slipping through the door, and Harry can only stand there and watch him go._

 

 

_~~~_

 

 

_When he wakes up, there’s a slew of new messages on his phone, the notifications slotting in one after another as he turns it on. He jerks upright, panic and dread pouring into his lungs as he scrolls through them frantically. Something went horribly wrong, the other half of the pack went in to help, and Harry’s been here, sleeping on his couch._

 

 

_~~~_

 

 

_The wind tears at his fur as he races across miles of wooded land, following the heavy traces of Zayn’s scent with watering eyes and praying, hoping he’s not too late, that he’ll get there and everything will be under control. So that he can shed the guilt that’s already starting to settle at the base of his spine, threatening to consume him._

_When he gets there, he almost wishes he hadn’t even come. What he sees is the aftermath of a merciless bloodbath; his friends lying slumped across tree trunks, in puddles, muddied and cold, alone. Dead._

_“No,” Harry sobs, shifting and falling to his knees in front of Nick’s limp figure, gathering him into his arms and holding him tight. As if he can transfer his own heat to him, as if he can turn back the clock and have him blink awake, a familiar crooked grin on his face. “God, no, please no."_

_It feels like he’s in a fever dream, some awful, twisted nightmare when he hears Zayn’s voice._

_“Harry!”_

_He freezes, then turns around slowly to see Zayn standing at the crest of the hill, soaked to the skin in blood._

_“Zayn,” he cries in relief, trembling, struggling to his feet -_

_“Run!” Zayn shouts, starting to stumble down the hill towards him. “Get out of here, now! RUN!”_

_Suddenly, a massive wolf bursts out of the treeline and slams straight into Zayn, toppling the both of them down until they skid to a stop in the dead leaves. Harry’s frozen in shock, unable to do anything but watch, legs bolted in place. Zayn’s fighting back, limbs flailing as he attempts to wriggle out from underneath the beast - but the wolf shifts instantly, and barely a second passes before there’s a human boy flipping Zayn over and pinning his wrists behind him, muscles straining._

_“God, Harry, what are you doing?” Zayn yells, voice cracking. “Go, go, go!”_

_Zayn stops talking after that, because the man delivers a sharp blow to the side of his neck and then Zayn’s unconscious, head lolling._

_Harry barely gets a word out before he’s being forced to his knees by a heavy someone behind him, wrists gripped so tight behind him his circulation might get cut off. “Get off me!” he yells, twisting around, but it’s futile, childish to think that something as flimsy as words might stop his fate. He tries kicking out, but then something sharp hits his back and he’s face planting into the dirt, wriggling around uselessly. “Zayn!”_

_“He can’t hear you, love,” someone says, and he strains his neck in vain trying to look up and see who it is. “He’s unconscious.”_

_“Let me go!”_

_“That’s such a pretty shirt you’re wearing,” the voice continues, as if he’d never spoken, and he sees the edge of a brown boot enter his range of vision. “It’s a shame it’s ruined now.”_

_“Let - me - go!” he snarls again, straining pitifully against the iron grip of whoever’s got him pinned down._

_The man laughs, a cold, hollow sound that sends goosebumps up and down Harry’s arms. “Or else you’ll do what? I don’t think you’re in a position to do much of anything at the moment.” Harry squeezes his eyes shut. This is just a bad dream. He’ll wake up now. Any second. “No, we have big plans for you, darling.” Any second. Any second. Any second. “Big, big plans.”_

_The last thing he sees is the boot coming towards his face._

 

 

_\---_

  


 

Niall wakes up on Christmas morning to Harry splayed on top of him, a warm, familiar weight,. He cranes his neck to peer down at him, blinking the sleep from his eyes, and Harry grins up at him through his eyelashes.

“Morning, Sleeping Beauty,” Harry sighs, resting his chin on his sternum. “It’s Christmas,” he adds as an afterthought, like Niall needs reminding.

“It is.”

Harry hums lowly, a glint to his eye that Niall recognizes all too well. “How does celebratory sex sound?” he asks, perhaps predictably, and Niall laughs. Harry grins when his own head moves with the force of it.

“What exactly are we celebrating?”

“Christmas.”

“Seems a little sacrilegious, don’t you think?” Niall points out, pushing himself up so that he can sit more comfortably. Harry scrambles up as well just to settle down in Niall’s lap, overeager as always.

“And why is that?” Harry asks, eyes darkening when Niall reaches out and traces the edge of his shoulder, goosebumps appearing in his wake.

“You don’t think celebrating the birth of the Lord with sex is inappropriate?” He arches an eyebrow, biting down on his lip when Harry shifts on his lap, pretending to adjust the bed sheets around them. _Tease._

“Actually, most historians agree that Jesus wasn’t actually born on December 25th,” Harry informs him while blatantly grinding down on Niall’s quickly hardening cock. Niall bites back a groan, letting his eyes flutter shut.

“Can we _please_ not talk about Jesus right now?”

“Since you asked so nicely,” Harry purrs, a smirk playing on his mouth as he ducks down to kiss him. Niall’s lips are chapped, but Harry licks over them, sweet and soft. It turns rougher only when Niall reaches up and tangles his fingers in Harry’s long hair, tugging gently. Harry groans into his mouth and grinds his hips down harder, earning a choked gasp from him.

“Niall, I was thinking,” Harry says breathlessly, inhaling sharply when Niall reaches down and palms the outline of his already-hard cock. “I want you to fuck me,” he gets out finally, and Niall stills.

“What?”

“Want you in me,” Harry whines, lips brushing against Niall’s. “Please.”

And, well. He isn’t saying no to that.

Harry clambers off his lap and roots around in the dresser for the lube and condoms before tossing them on the bed, wriggling out of his pants at the same time. Niall’s growing painfully hard at the sight of Harry so eager.

“Hurry up,” Harry sighs as he flops back on the bed, flipping over underneath him and presenting his bum to the heavens. “Haven’t got all day.”

“Patience is a virtue, Harry,” he reminds him, but uncaps the lube anyways, warming it up with his fingers before teasing the rim of his hole, his touch feather light. Harry presses his hips hard into the mattress, a needy moan escaping his mouth. He’s getting impatient, whining and asking for it so prettily, but Niall wants to draw this out longer.

He leans over and presses his lips to the bone at the top of Harry’s spine, then the one below it, leaving a trail of wet kisses down his back. Harry’s got half his name out of his mouth when Niall presses a finger in slowly, and he goes silent, gasping.

“You good, pet?” Niall pauses, and Harry nods his head quickly, curls shaking in his face as he does so.

“Yeah, just - haven’t done this in a while.”

“Tell me if it gets too much, yeah?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Harry mumbles into the pillow. “Just - please.”

Niall thrusts his finger in again and then back out, over and over until Harry is begging for more, twisting his hips around. Niall braces a hand on Harry’s waist, holding him still, because he won’t stop bucking his arse back against Niall’s hand and moaning gibberish into the sheets.

Niall moves up to two fingers, fucks them in and out while Harry keeps asking for more, drawing moans out of him that go straight to his cock. Then he’s at three, and Harry’s clenching around him, white-knuckling the sheets and pleading with him, his cock leaking all over his stomach and making a mess.

Niall wants it, wants him so much that his hands are shaking by the time he reaches for a condom - but Harry grabs his wrist, stopping him.

“I’m clean,” he says, voice raw. “Are you?”

“Uh, yeah,” Niall nods, heart lurching. “Right. Okay. Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure, I’m sure,” Harry says, words running together in his rush. “ _Please,_ Ni, just fuck me already--”

Niall lines his himself up until his cock presses wetly against Harry’s hole, and then pushes in, too slowly for Harry’s taste, but he’s much too overwhelmed by the feeling to do anything but mold himself to Harry’s back and try to even out his breathing by the time he’s fully sheathed inside his tight heat. He feels fucking amazing around him, just like he thought he would.

“Move,” Harry groans, so Niall draws his hips back and starts fucking into him, soaking up the noises that spill uncontrollably out of Harry’s mouth. He thought Harry was loud before this, but all of that pales in comparison to the moans he’s letting out now, pushing his hips back to shove Niall’s cock deeper inside him, fisting the sheets and telling him to go faster, harder.

So Niall does, fucks into him at a brutal pace. Harry’s taking him so well, doing so well, keeps whimpering and making breathy little sounds as Niall fills his arse over and over again, sweat sliding down the line of his throat.

Harry reaches down to get a hand on himself, but Niall bats it away, pulling out quickly and flipping Harry over.

Harry groans at the loss, hands grasping at Niall’s body to pull him closer. “What are you doing?”

“Wanna see you,” he grunts by way of explanation, his voice gone all tight and low.

Niall barely waits for Harry to get used to the position before sliding his cock right back in, almost whiting out at the feeling of Harry so wet and open for him, his slick cock between them rubbing up against Niall’s stomach.

“Oh, fuck,” Harry breathes, eyes fluttering closed as he reaches around and grabs at Niall’s shoulders, dragging his nails down his back just hard enough to hurt. “Fuck, Niall.”

“Teel so good,” he murmurs, kissing him hard. “Doing so good for me, pet.” The new angle seems to be doing wonders, because Harry starts clenching around him, and Niall snakes a hand in between them and wraps his fingers around Harry’s cock, pumping him slow, dragging his calloused fingertips over the leaking tip and back down to the base the way he knows he likes it.

Harry’s screaming his name when he comes, the sound half muffled with how he presses his face into Niall’s shoulder, sobbing with the force of his orgasm. Niall can’t hold it after that, either, his thrusts erratic as he spills his load inside him, Harry’s name falling out of his mouth as the feeling overtakes him.

“Holy shit,” Harry pants raggedly, grabbing his face and kissing him, licking into his mouth like he’s starving for it. Niall hips stutter one last time before he pulls out as gingerly as possible. His legs feel like jelly, all his muscles thoroughly wrung out from the force of his orgasm.

“So,” he pants as he flops next to Harry on the bed, chest still heaving. “Top three shags of your life?”

Harry laughs, though it’s not particularly funny, and curls himself around Niall, resting his head on his chest.

“Best I’ve ever had, Horan.”

 

 

\---

 

 

“Socks? _Again_?”

“What? He likes them!”

“Yeah, I like them!”

“You could try to be a bit more creative instead of just getting each other the same gift every time.”

“Well if I know he likes it then why would I change it?”

“Besides, it’s tradition,” Niall adds, and Perrie throws herself across the couch, sighing loudly. Harry pats her hand in sympathy.

Niall stares, pleased, at his set of patterned socks, gifted to him by Liam, who sits next to him with the Nutribullet he got him in his lap. He’d gotten him one last year, but Louis broke it, and Liam never got around to replacing it, so. It seemed like a practical gift.

And Liam always gets him the same thing every year, so now he’s got new socks, a new coat from Perrie, and a leather-bound journal from Harry that’s got “ _Merry Christmas, Niall!!!!!”_ scrawled on the inside cover next to the date and a collection of hearts in varying sizes doodled on the page. Plus plenty of other gifts from the pack, who are scattered around Bressie’s house, playing FIFA or eating or venturing out into the backyard to feel the rain.

Save for him, Harry, and Perrie, they’ve all got actual blood-related families to spend Christmas with, but none of them left town to see them. Niall feels guilty, for some reason, like he’s the one keeping them away, but it’s too much of a risk to leave their land vulnerable.

They’d arrived at Bressie’s house to cheers rising from the living room at the sight of them, the whole pack already slightly tipsy even though it was barely noon, cheeks flushed and smiles giddy. Or maybe just because it’s Christmas, and in this room they can pretend they’re safe. That illusion is certainly kept strong as they while away their time, testing out Louis’s mulled wine and pretending to spit it out so he scowls at them, drinking eggnog and growing steadily more intoxicated. (Niall passes on the alcohol. He still has one more place to go before the end of the day, and he’s not going to do it drunk.)  

He finds himself squashed up next to Louis on the couch where he’s sitting, though not for lack of room. Louis’ just got off the phone with his family, and he’s taken to sighing softly at regular intervals and drumming his fingers against his beer can with a pensive look on his face. He must miss them something awful, all his little siblings and his mum. Hearing their voices seemed to have cheered him up slightly, but Niall knows it’s definitely not the same thing as going home to them.

“How are they?” he asks, folding his arms across his stomach and shivering at feeling of the scratchy material of the ugly Christmas sweater Laura forced over his head not long ago poking into his skin. He’s pretty sure the the reindeers on it are taking a shit. He’s got to show Harry that, he’d probably get a laugh out of it.

“Good,” Louis tells him quietly. “Could hardly hear what they were saying, the kids were yelling into the phone so loud,” he adds, smiling faintly, and Niall leans into him, pleased. Louis smells like a familiar blend of cigarette smoke and pine, and he feels like his bones are more settled, here, next to him. The three of them - Louis and him, and Liam - had always been a bit tighter knit together than the rest of the pack. Liam and Louis were inseparable from the start, brought Niall into their fold when he showed up on their doorstep freshly turned with Perrie at his side. They made things easier. Made it seem like being a werewolf wasn’t as much as a life-altering catastrophe as it really was.

He still remembers Louis showing him his canines for the first time, curling his lip up and tilting his head. _Go ahead, poke ‘em._ Niall had a full-blown panic attack when Louis took the joke too far and pretended to bite at his fingers, because it reminded him too much of - you know, actually being bitten by a wolf - and then he spent the next half hour attempting to calm him down, bumbling through apologies and promising he wouldn’t scare Niall like that ever again.

“You could probably visit them for Easter, right?” Niall asks, and Louis just shrugs. _If we’re still around,_ he’s saying.

“C’mon,” he chides, nudging him gently with his elbow. “We’ll be okay.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yeah, but it feels nice saying it,” Niall observes, and Louis grins at him, the edges of his smile softer than normal.

Harry chooses that moment to stumble into the room and all but throw himself across Niall’s lap, clearly buzzed. “Niaaaall,” he whines, and Louis very intuitively pushes himself to his feet and excuses himself, rolling his eyes as he goes. “Laura is being mean.”

“Yeah? What’d she say?”

“Made fun of my hair.” Harry pouts, and Niall tamps down the laughter about to spill out of his mouth. He cards his fingers through Harry’s hair instead, the curls soft between his fingers.

“It is pretty long,” he observes, like neither of them knew it, and lets the hair fall across Harry’s face. Harry makes a valiant effort to blow it away, until Niall has mercy on him and brushes it away for him. “Are you going to cut it?”

Harry wiggles around a little, trying to get comfortable. “Dunno. Do you like it?”

“Of course.”

“Would you like it short?”

“It doesn’t matter to me,” Niall tells him, heart clenching with fondness when Harry struggles to sit up and moves to sit in Niall’s lap, straddling his hips. Niall tugs gently at the end of a strand of hair, and Harry goes cross-eyed trying to follow the movement. “I think you’d look stunning either way.”

Harry preens, smiling happily and pressing a sloppy kiss to Niall’s cheek. “Thank you.” He pauses, brows furrowing. “Would you love me if I was bald?”

Niall pretends to hesitate and deliberate over it, earning a soft _heyyy_ and a genuine frown from Harry. “Yes, idiot. But please don’t shave your head.”

“You’ve just given me permission, though.”

“I did not!”

“Did too.”

“Did not.”

Instead of replying, Harry kisses him, tongue swiping along the seam of his lips. Niall opens up easily. He tastes like sugar cookies and wine and cream, and Niall pushes his hands underneath Harry’s sweater to rest on his hips, squeezing gently and eliciting a pleased noise from him.

“Hey!” Louis says sharply, and Niall pulls away to see him standing in the doorway with his hands on his hips, reminding him acutely of one of those little dogs that think they’re a lot bigger than they really are. “No fornicating on my couch, you horny bastards!”

“Piss off,” Niall says without any real bite to it, grinning at Harry, whose lips are slick and red, and he feels intoxicated even though he hasn’t had anything.

Harry slides off his lap, grabbing his hand and tugging him to his feet. “We’ll be in the bathroom, then,” he informs Louis, who rolls his eyes so hard Niall half expects them to fall out of his skull.

 

 

\---

 

 

The sky is it’s usual steely gray when they finally leave Bressie’s house, but there’s no rain, thankfully.

Harry, sated for now with the blowies they’d exchanged in the bathroom, slips his hand into his and tangles their fingers together as they head towards the supermarket. He looks surprisingly sober, now, the gray light cast from the sky making his face sharper, more angled.

Niall buys the three of the most expensive bouquets in the store, tucks them into his arms, taking care not to crush the petals, and then they set off.

Harry still doesn’t know where they’re going, because Niall hasn’t told him - can’t seem to force the words out, for some reason, he’s getting all choked up like he has every Christmas since - but he’s still tagging along, brushing his shoulder against his and squeezing his hand tight. It’s more of a comfort than Harry probably knows.

They walk briskly up the steep hill. Dead leaves skitter across their path with the wind and crunch underneath their feet as they turn off the sidewalk and head up the gravel path. Niall unhooks the rusted black gate, the metal freezing to the touch, and it swings open with a wailing creak that echoes in his ears.

It’s quiet. The ground is damp and muddy, and the gravestones are darkened with rain. Harry’s gone silent behind him, but he’s close enough that Niall can feel his fogging breath on the back of his neck. Personally, he’s never found cemeteries all that creepy. Contrary to popular belief, dark spirits don’t linger here, and certainly not ghosts. They’ve got better places to be, he reckons, and besides, Niall’s not afraid of many things, ghosts included.

He treads the familiar path to the center of the graveyard, where three identical headstones stand. The stones have aged with time, chipped, stained, faded. Niall comes by sometimes and tries to scrub off as much as the bird poop off of them as he can, but. Some are determined.

Niall crouches down, reaching out and brushing his fingers over his father’s name, digging his fingernail slightly into the _H_ of Horan. He sets down the first bouquet, propping it up so the petals don’t get muddy. He does the same on Greg’s grave, then his mother’s. He can feel the unwelcome prick of tears behind his eyes, and he wipes at them hurriedly as he rises to his feet.

He comes here for Christmas and Easter, as well their birthdays and the anniversaries of their deaths and all that. He visits them quite a lot, figures that just because they’re gone doesn’t mean they shouldn’t be able to celebrate too.

“Merry Christmas,” he whispers to the graves, and suddenly he feels Harry’s warmth at his side, his arm coming around his shoulder to squeeze him tight. He wraps his own around Harry’s waist.

“Niall?”

Niall just hums in response, not trusting his voice.

“I think they’d be proud of you,” Harry murmurs, his tone unbearably soft, “If they could see you now.”

“Do you think?” Niall asks, voice rough. He doesn’t bother clearing it.

“Yeah.”

It begins to rain. Droplets roll down the flower petals, and in between the grooves of the letters in the stone. He can’t tell if the water trickling down his face is the rain or his tears, can’t even bring himself to wipe them away. He misses his family so fiercely at that moment, misses his father’s carefree laughter and his brother’s grudging smiles. Misses the warm, flowery scent that he remembers his mother carried with her, even if the only way he’s able to see her face in his head is by thinking of the faded photographs his father would show him.

“I wish I could’ve buried them,” Harry says suddenly, voice nearly lost in the wind, and Niall glances over at him.

“Your pack?” He’s yanked out of his memories, reminded suddenly of what happened last night. Harry crying, mumbling in his sleep. _I won’t do it, I won’t do it._

Harry nods, ducking his head. “Sorry, I shouldn’t - I just miss them,” he breathes, and Niall squeezes his hip, resting his head on Harry’s shoulder.

They stand there until Niall starts shivering and Harry pulls him away from the graves, telling him that he’ll catch his death of cold if they stay out any longer. He lets himself be led along, squeezing Harry’s hand so tight he knows it probably hurts, but he feels like he has to. Feels like he has to tether himself to something right now, otherwise he’ll get float away, get lost inside his head. He thinks Harry feels the same way.

He stops them just before they leave the cemetery, though. Turns towards Harry, drops his hand, and says, “Can you promise me something?”

Harry blinks at him, nods with no hesitation. “Yeah." 

“Promise me you’ll see your family. After all this,” he waves vaguely, “is over. When we’re safe.”

Harry pauses, inhaling sharply. “Niall--”

“Please.”

A moment passes, then two. “Alright,” he sighs a little, reaching out for Niall’s hand. Niall lets him take it, lets him rub his thumb over his knuckles. “Only for you.”

 

 

\---

 

 

Three days later, Niall comes home from Liam’s house to find dinner on the table, the lights dimmed, scented candles lit, and Harry flitting around rearranging things. There’s a novel open and dog-eared on the kitchen counter, sinks full, music playing softly from the record player in the living room. Niall pauses in the doorway, leaning against the frame and taking in the scene with a fond smile.

Harry had insisted on having a formal date night that wasn’t just lazing around on the couch watching a movie and eating pizza silently. Niall doesn’t see anything wrong with it, thinks his couch is very nice and pizza is a good meal anytime, but he’s willing to humor Harry.

Anyways, Niall tiptoes through the kitchen, and Harry’s so busy nudging a plate into just the right position that he doesn’t notice when he comes up behind him.

He grabs his waist. Harry screams shrilly, and then groans. “Jesus, Niall.” Niall cackles as Harry turns around in his arms, frowning. “Scared the shit out of me.”

He rubs his thumb across Harry’s hipbone, the skin feverishly warm under his touch. “Was kinda the point,” he murmurs, tilting his head up to meet Harry’s lips with a smile, kissing him. He pulls away after, glancing over Harry’s shoulder at the arrangement on the table, impressed. “You made all of this yourself?"

Harry nods, a little shyly. “Well - Bressie helped a bit. He’s a really good cook, actually.”

“Went all out, didn’t you,” Niall says quietly, kissing him again, but he feels a burn of guilt in his gut. His fingers tighten behind his back around the bouquet of daisies still in his hand. He feels stupid, and ashamed, standing here in front of this elaborate dinner Harry planned out with the scent of vanilla wafting everywhere from the candles guttering on the table.

“I just got you flowers.” he confesses, bringing them around and staring down at the petals, going red underneath the tenderness of Harry’s gaze. “I’m sorry. You went through all this trouble and I just--”

“It’s okay, Ni,” Harry starts to say, but he shakes his head.

“No, you don’t have to like, make me feel better. I’m a horrible boyfriend, sorry,” he laughs weakly, hiding his face in the open collar of Harry’s shirt. “Shit. Sorry.”

“Niall,” Harry murmurs, hands coming up to cup Niall’s face. He kisses him soundly, curls tickling Niall’s face as he leans into it. “I promise it’s fine,” he says once he pulls away. “I didn’t make most of this anyways. I’m an awful cook, I had to beg Bressie to save me.”

That gets a laugh out of him, filling up the little space between them and making his heart swell when Harry grins at him. Then Harry’s ducking in, suddenly, lips fleeting over Niall’s neck before he starts blowing a loud, wet raspberry. “Harry!” he laughs, trying to squirm out of his grip. “Get off me, you idiot.”

“Well,” Harry says, clears his throat as he shakes his hair out of his face very seriously, like he hasn’t got the mentality of a five year old and didn’t just prove it. He takes the flowers from Niall. “Let’s see how good of a cook Bressie really is.”

 

 

\---

 

 

Harry perks up in the middle of dinner, remembering the wine he’s got in the cabinet. Niall goes a little too heavy on it, but Harry seems to be holding back, sipping lightly from his glass every few minutes. But strangely, the more relaxed Niall becomes, the more tense Harry is. He can feel his knee bouncing underneath the table, can see how he’s twisting his rings round and round his fingers until the skin underneath is red and irritated.

Niall frowns, setting his fork down on his empty plate and leaning against the back of his chair. “You alright, Haz?”

Harry’s gaze is sharp through the slight haze of alcohol, studying him with a scrutiny Niall doesn’t think is needed. Harry opens his mouth, then shuts it again, and then finally replies - or doesn’t, actually. “I really, really love you,” he says softly.

“I love you too,” Niall replies easily, and Harry looks helplessly miserable for a fraction of a second. Then Niall blinks, and there’s the hint of a smile on his face instead. He feels Harry’s feet knock gently into his underneath the table, and he nudges him back, grinning lazily now.

Harry doesn’t take his eyes off him while they eat dessert, and his gaze is affectionate but there’s something else to it, all the same, slipping into the sound of his laugh when Niall chokes on his brownie because he ate it too fast and into his touch when he takes his hand across the table.

Niall’s not drunk, but there’s a slight buzz in his blood, and that’s what has him saying “we should make out now” after the dishes are cleared away and they’re standing by the sink instead of “why do you look vaguely constipated and sad”.

That’s how they end up on the kitchen floor, Niall’s knee throbbing from how he landed when Harry tripped over his own feet and took both of them down. But the ache in his knee is overshadowed entirely by the feeling of Harry’s hands on his arse, the delicious brush of his crotch against Harry’s thigh, the way Harry’s licking into his mouth.

When he pulls away, Harry’s cheeks are flushed pink, his eyes wide and dark as he stares up at him.

“Bedroom,” Niall says, and clambers off Harry’s body so he can sit up. “We should do that thing,” he says stiltedly once they’re both upright, waving his hands around while he struggles to find the word. “Y’know. The - thing.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean,” Harry says, face dead serious, and Niall giggles.

“Just - here.” He steps closer and loops his arms around Harry’s neck. “Don’t drop me,” he whispers, and then he jumps up, wrapping his legs around Harry’s waist. Harry’s hands find his bum automatically, and he snorts, going cross eyed to see him.

“Y’know,” Niall says, as Harry hefts him up higher, fingers squeezing tight, “This isn’t very sexy. I feel like a koala.”

Harry nearly drops him when he starts laughing, making Niall squeeze his legs tighter around his waist, which then causes Harry to very nearly tip over. But he doesn’t, thank god, and Niall’s body is left undamaged.

Harry walks them to his bedroom, still groping Niall’s arse and kissing him every now and then, pausing to push him up against the wall and make out in the dark until Niall tells him to get a move on.

They end up collapsing on Harry’s bed, still tangled up, Niall’s hands in Harry’s hair and Harry’s hands on the backs of his thighs, keeping him pressed close as they fumble about. Harry breaks away only for a second to swat around on the dresser until he switches on the lamp, and then he crawls back on the bed.

Niall pauses, takes a minute to clamber into Harry’s lap and hold his face close to his, eyes roving over every familiar feature the way he skims through books he’s read thousands of times before. Harry’s hair is silky soft between his fingers, eyes wide and so, so green as Niall leans forward and kisses him, slowly this time.

There’s nothing rough or rushed or desparate about the way Harry kisses him back, mouth warm against his own, hands slipping underneath his shirt. Niall shivers at the bite of Harry’s ice-cold rings against his skin.

He waits impatiently as Harry fumbles with his belt buckle and then peels all his clothes off agonizingly slow. Niall’s done getting naked in half the time he is, and he’s about to lube his own fingers up when Harry stops him and insists on doing it himself. 

Harry opens him up slowly, too, and it’s all he can do not to whine petulantly about it while Harry’s got two fingers shoved up his arse to the knuckle, adding a third even though he’s already ready.

Niall’s never been made love to before, is the thing. But he realizes, as Harry presses in oh so slowly, still leaving kisses on the underside of his jaw, hands squeezing the pillow on either side of Niall’s head - that that’s what this is. Harry’s making love to him. And even though he’s still horny as fuck and frankly desperate to get off, he lets himself go boneless for a minute, relishing the burn of Harry inside him.

Harry glances back up at him almost reverently, leans in and kisses his chin, then his nose, his cheeks, forehead, eyelids, lips nothing more than a feather light brush against his skin. It makes Niall’s heart doing funny things in his chest, warmth spreading down to his middle like he’s bleeding love everywhere. Life can be ugly, he thinks, can hurt and burn and scar, but it’s the nice bits that stitch you back together. Harry is one of those nice bits.

He pauses. Christ, he must have drank more than he thought.

“Would you mind moving,” he whispers, feels Harry smile into the crook of his neck.

“Is it alright if we go slow?” Harry murmurs, drawing his hips back and then sliding back in gently, setting the pace. “Wanna make this last.”

“Yeah, it’s okay,” Niall breathes, breath hitching when Harry kisses him soundly. He hooks his legs around Harry’s waist, lifting his hips to drive him in deeper. They go like that for a while, Harry kissing him lazily, Niall opening up around him. The pleasure running down his spine is less like a live wire, the way it usually is, and more like the way the waves lap against the shore at the lake, warm and hazy and smooth. He’s content enough to let Harry fuck him like this, the lines of his body familiar and soft in the lamplight.

Harry starts to speed up a while later, not quite impatient but somewhere close. Niall reaches a hand between them, cupping the hard line of his own cock and rubbing a thumb over the leaking head, delicious arousal curling in his gut when Harry moans breathlessly at the sight. There’s still emotion thick in the air, heavy in Harry’s eyes as he stares at him, even though Niall doesn’t know what for - tonight’s been like any other night, save for what they’re doing right now - but he ignores it in favor of wrapping his hand tighter around his dick and jerking himself off in earnest. 

Harry’s hips speed up even more. “C’mon, pet, come in me. Know you can do it, c’mon,” Niall pants.

Harry’s groaning breathlessly into his ear, eyes squeezed shut as he fucks into him, pulling almost all the way out before thrusting back in. “God, I love you,” he breathes, his arms trembling next to Niall’s face. “Love you so much, never wanna lose you, _fuck._ ”

“You never will,” Niall murmurs, and Harry comes, drawing a sharp moan out of him at the feeling of being filled up. It’s enough to get him coming as well, cum splattering all over his stomach. Harry just keeps pumping into him, hips stuttering, forehead screwed up, mouth parted around a delicate _oh._ It feels like ages before he finally pulls out, so much sticky wet between them Niall thinks they must’ve soaked the sheets. He closes his eyes, chest heaving, feeling shaky even though he’s lying down.

There’s a deep flush on Harry’s cheeks when he sinks down beside him, hair messy as it splays across the pillow. Niall reaches up and smooths it away, keeping his voice low. “What are you so worried about, Harry?”

“What?”

“You’re never gonna lose me, you know that.”

Harry closes his eyes, throat bobbing as he swallows. His voice is quiet, steady as he says, “Do I?”

Niall wiggles closer, cupping Harry’s jaw and brushing the pad of his thumb over his bottom lip. “You’re never gonna lose me,” he repeats, frowning. It feels imperative that Harry knows it, that he understands. “I’m yours, pet. Always, no matter what.”

“Promise?” Harry asks, eyes blinking open.

“Promise,” he says, and seals it with a kiss before flopping over onto his back and pulling the sheets up to his shoulders, sighing contentedly. “Good night, Harry.”

 Harry’s quiet for a long time before he replies. “Good night, Ni.”

  


\---

 

 

He’s woken in the middle of the night by the bed shifting, suddenly cold and unable to feel Harry’s body against his anymore.

He cracks his eyes open by a fraction, sees Harry sliding slowly out of bed, the clock on the dresser blinking 12:54 AM.

“Babe?” he croaks. Harry turns around, his hair sticking up in all directions. “Where are you going?”

“Just getting water,” Harry whispers, patting Niall’s hand where it lies on the bed. “Go back to sleep.”

Niall does.

 

 

\---

 

 

When he wakes up for the second time, the clock reads 1:29. The room is dark, he’s still cold, and Harry is nowhere to be seen. 

He sits up, head spinning with the sudden motion, glancing around the room. “Harry?” Niall waits for a moment, for a minute, for two. “ _Harry?”_

When there’s no response, he throws the sheets off, sliding over the cold half of the bed where Harry was supposed to be sleeping and making his way out of the bedroom, vision going spotty with dizziness.

 _“Harry?”_ He yells one more time, his voice carrying through the house. He stands completely still, craning his neck into the hallway and straining his ears for any sort of sound. There isn’t one, so he darts back inside the room and grabs his phone, the screen blinding in the darkness.

 _Where the fuck is he?_ He presses Harry’s number with shaking fingers and bated breath, pushing a hand through his hair and praying that Harry picks up.

He doesn’t, and Niall realizes why a moment later, when he hears the familiar sound of a phone vibrating in the room.

Niall swears softly under his breath, heart plummeting when he throws Harry’s pillow aside and sees his phone lying face down on the bed. He picks it up gingerly, staring down at the lock screen and reading the only text notification on it:

**G:**

_1 AM._

Niall stares at it until the letters mean nothing, eyes flashing to the photo behind it: a picture of himself cheesing at the camera, silver tinsel wrapped around his neck like a scarf, a red flush on his cheeks and a pair of felt reindeer antlers jammed on his head. He remembers Harry wrestling him into the outfit on Christmas, snapping the picture with a goofy grin on his face, and then pulling him in by his tinsel-scarf and kissing him.

The screen goes dark, and Niall snaps out of his thoughts, turning and rooting through his open dresser. He throws on a shirt and his pants, and then he’s grabbing both phones, stumbling through the front hallway towards the door - but when he throws it open, a scrap of paper comes fluttering down, landing silently on the floor.

Heart in his throat, Niall bends down and picks it up carefully. It’s wrinkled at one end where it’d been wedged between the door and the frame, Harry’s familiar scrawl all over it.

 _I’m sorry I didn’t get to say goodbye,_ it says, and Niall feels something bitter well up his mouth, heart sinking. _I love you, and it was real, please don’t ever forget that, no matter what happens. I won’t be coming back. Please don’t come after me. You and the pack need to leave town immediately. It’s not safe._

The last line is underlined three times. Niall reads it over and over again, the words burned into his retinas until he can almost see it when he closes his eyes  
The wind pulls violently at his clothes as he sprints towards Liam and Louis’s house. Dead leaves scrape across the blacktop of the empty street, illuminated only by the flickering streetlights and the barely there light of the moon.

He nearly trips on the steps as he races up to Liam’s door, banging on the wood so hard his hand is throbbing by the time he sees the lights go on two minutes later and Liam flings open the door, wide-eyed.

“Niall? What’s wrong?”

“Harry,” Niall pants, holding up his phone. “He left in the middle of the night, didn’t take any of his stuff, I don’t know where he is--”

“What d’you mean he left?” Liam interrupts, alarmed. “He of all people should know it’s not safe--”

“I don’t _know_ , Liam,” Niall says, and he doesn’t know what he’s doing still standing here on his doorstep. He has to get to Harry. “I’m going after him.”

“Niall, it’s not safe.” Liam reaches out, grabs his wrist. Niall wrenches it away from him.

“It’s not safe for him either.”

“Can you - wait for me to get Louis, alright? Please.”

Niall hesitates, then nods curtly, adrenaline thrumming underneath his skin while he waits skittishly on Liam’s front porch until Louis tramps out with his hair looking like a bird’s nest and his mouth in a deep frown.

“We’ll find the bloody idiot, don’t worry,” he tells Niall.  

That hope slips father and farther away the more time passes. They follow Harry’s scent as far as the forest, and then deeper, trying to pick out his path, Niall’s crushing worry making him incapable of bothering when his clothes and skin get snagged on the branches they push past.

Hours pass. The moon rises higher in the sky, and the three of them get more frustrated, desperation simmering in the air.

 _Where are you?_ Niall thinks, the sound of ragged breathing all around him as Liam and Louis struggle to keep up with his pace. He still can’t wrap his head around it; where would Harry have gone? Without taking any of his things? Without warning Niall? For what? And the note, that bloody note, the one Niall had paid no heed to, the one that’s still shoved in his pocket all crumpled up, what was that about? He won't even let himself think about the possibility of Harry hurt, or worse. There's no time for that. 

“Niall,” Liam says, sounding exhausted. “I don’t think he’s here.”

“He has to be!” Niall fires back instantly. “His scent is getting stronger, I know he’s out here somewhere.”

"But what if we’re walking straight into a trap?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”  

“Liam’s right,” Louis pipes up. “Think about it. Harry disappears in the middle of the night without telling anybody, demands that you not follow him, knowing you would anyways--”

“What are you implying?”

“Plus, if we haven’t found him yet, we’re probably not going to find him an hour from now either--”

“How do you know that?”

“And we can’t even see properly out here, we could get lost--”

“So we give up?” Niall snarls, digging his nails into his palm, the familiar sting a comfort. “We just leave him out here alone?”

“How are only the three of us supposed to be able to find him?” Louis shouts back, exparated. “Look, all I’m saying is maybe we should regroup, get some more bodies in on the search. Wait for the sun to come out.”

“I’m not leaving--”

“Hold on.” Liam cuts him off suddenly, holding up a hand. “Do you smell that?” Niall snaps his mouth shut, reluctantly taking a deep breath-- _pine, Louis, squirrel, Liam, and rotten food._ Rotten food, like the kind you find at the bottom of a trash can.

It’s familiar, and not because of the time he and Louis went dumpster-diving on a whim.

“Isn’t that…” Louis trails off, and a spike of icy cold fear stabs through Niall’s chest.

 _“Harry!”_ he yells, the sudden noise deafening even to his own ears. Liam flinches. _“Harry!”_ They’ve got him, he thinks, panicking, blinking in the dark and straining his ears to listen for any noise. He’s never felt more helpless in his life. There’s a million questions flooding his mind, stacking over each other so fast it’s impossible to think straight.

Niall shifts without looking back at Louis or Liam, his eyes adjusting better to the dark than his human ones ever could. He can hear them shouting after him as he heads deeper into the forest, but they follow soon after, paws crunching in the undergrowth.

Something pulls taut in his chest as he picks up Harry’s scent again, sour saliva pooling in the back of his mouth as the smell grows stronger the farther they go. Louis was right; he doesn’t know what he’s going to find, what they’re walking straight into without backup.

Liam lets out a bone-chilling howl, the tone of it different than any sound the rest of them could produce. It radiates an alpha’s power, shooting up into the night sky and sending a shiver down Niall’s spine. It makes his bones ache strangely, like he’s trapped in a magnetic field and Liam is at the center of it, even though he’s barely a few feet away. Right now, the rest of the pack is probably jolting awake in bed, driven by the same inexplicable pull towards the forest.

Harry’s scent is overwhelming by the time they enter into a clearing, fallen trees blocking them in on one side and the nearly frozen creek on the other. Niall’s head swings back and forth, eyes wide open. For all he knows, Harry could be right next to him with how strong his scent is - but he can’t see any sign of him. Faint moonlight spills over the wet grass, making the blades glisten silver.

 _Niall,_ Liam thinks. He feels him come up to stand beside him, coarse fur pressed against Niall’s. _I have a bad feeling about this. Like, a really, really bad feeling._

 _So do I,_ Louis chimes, but the thought has no sooner registered in his head than a familiar voice screams, “ _No!”_

He about jumps out of his skin out the sound, adrenaline making his heart stutter as he twists around wildly in search of the source. He doesn’t have to look for very long, though, because a shadowy figure steps out of the treeline on the other side of the clearing, lithe and lanky.

Niall shifts after a split second of deliberation, sees Liam on his right and Louis beside him doing the same.

“Hello,” the strange man calls from across the distance, voice slick. It makes Niall’s gut churn queasily as he searches the shadows behind the man, looking for any sign of Harry. “It’s good to finally meet all of you. I’ve heard so much.”

“And who are you?” Liam calls. He’s definitely a werewolf, Niall can smell it on him, but not one he recognizes. The man sticks his heads in his pockets and begins strolling slowly down the slope towards them. He feels Louis and Liam stiffen behind him, and for good reason. This man, whoever he is (though Niall has a horrible suspicion) looks far too comfortable and at ease, especially in enemy territory.

“If you don’t already know who I am, your lack of intelligence is far greater than I thought, Payne,” the man says silkily, and there it is. Suspicion confirmed. “The name’s Nick. There, now we’re all on a first-name basis!”

“Stuff it, fuckface,” Louis barks. “If anyone’s off in the head here, it’s you. Where are all your little minions? Or did you come alone?”

“Oh, they’re aren’t necessary yet,” the alpha of the Canyon pack says, waving him off like a fly. “I’m-”

“Where is he?” Niall snaps, unable to stop himself.

The cool gaze shifts to meet his. His eyes are nearly black from this far away, and they’re cold. Hollow. Niall feels a shiver run down his spine, but he grits his teeth and shakes it off.

“Where is who?” The alpha - _Nick_ \- calls, insufferably.

“Harry. I know you have him. I know you took him.”

“Took him?” Nick’s eyes widen incredulously, a peal of laughter escaping his mouth. “ _Took_ him? Oh, there’s a lot you don’t know yet, Niall. Harry came quite willingly.”

Louis glances over at him, shock apparent. _How does he know your name? What does he mean Harry came willingly?_

“Just let him go,” he snarls, bristling. “Now.” 

Nick stares at him for a while longer, almost pitying, then sighs. “Very well. You may as well see them.” He waves his hand once, nonchalant, and the leaves rustle behind him. Niall barely hears the confused murmur of _“them?”_ Liam lets out before two men are being dragged out of the forest’s edge, slumping against a guard each, too weak to stand on their own. Their hands are tied behind their backs, and as soon as they pass Nick, the guards shove them down to their knees in the shallow water of the creek.

One of them is Harry.

The other is dark haired, dangerously handsome, and bone-chillingly familiar.

“Zayn?” Liam gasps out, jaw slack.

Niall’s first thought is, _that can’t be right._ He can do nothing but stare, mouth dry, struggling to reconcile the scene in front of him with what he knows. He studies the shape of his jaw, the color of his hair, trying so hard to justify this, anything to suggest that this isn’t Zayn Malik sixty feet away from him. Except the puzzle pieces won’t fit, and he’s trying to force them in, trying to fix it some way that he can understand. Because Harry told him he was dead, right? Harry told him so.

“It can’t be,” Louis says shakily, “This is just some trick, some fucking faery illusion--”

“I wish it was,” Zayn says flatly, grimacing as he shifts his weight from one knee to the other. _Harry_ told _me,_ the tinny voice in his head repeats frantically.

Harry starts shaking his head, and the motion draws Niall’s eyes to him. “Run, all of you need to run right _now_ , I told you not to follow me, what are you doing standing there,” he babbles hysterically, squirming against his guard’s hold, and the note in Niall’s pocket starts burning a hole in his jeans. _This was a mistake,_ he thinks, but he finally takes notice of Harry’s torn jeans, bruised eye, bloodied face, and realizes he never really had a choice. If Harry’s in danger, if he’s been _hurt_ , he’s not leaving. He can’t.

But - why is Harry here, anyways? Why did he have to leave the house? Who sent him that text? Where’s Zayn been hiding, this entire time; how did the Canyon pack find him; how did the Canyon pack find Harry? How did they know Niall would coming looking for him?

“This is hilarious,” Nick says slowly, eyes flitting among them all. “Really hilarious." 

“I don’t see anything funny in this.” Louis bites out angrily, and Niall tears his gaze away from Harry. “Now tell us what’s going on and how the _fuck_ Malik is alive.”

“I’m impressed you never told him, Harry,” Nick continues, unfazed, looking down at him. “Look at those angel eyes of his! I could never lie to those.”

_Wait - what?_

Nick and Harry clearly know each other; Niall’s gaze flicks back and forth between them, frustration and confusion coloring his mind in varying shades of darkness. “Tell me what?” Harry doesn’t open his mouth. “Tell me _what-”_

It’s Zayn that speaks, then, eyes hard as he looks up through his fringe. “He’s a spy.”

The monster of a suspicion that’d been prowling in the back of his mind rears its ugly head and roars, triumphant, and Niall’s senses go entirely numb; his ears have started ringing and he can’t feel his fingers. He can’t move. Can’t move, can’t breathe, can’t think. _A spy. A double-agent. A traitor, a backstabber, a liar._

“He’s not,” he denies, mouth dry. “He can’t be.” Impossible _._ It’s impossible, Harry would never do anything to hurt him, would never lie to him. It’s not true. _Can’t be true._

But his eyes flash back to Zayn, and his breath catches, an awful thought entering his head. _Unless the stakes were high enough._ It takes him a second for him to get it, but when he does, the understanding melts over him like ice, chilling him to the bone.

“Harry,” he breathes out, desperation dripping from his voice, fingernails digging into his palms hard enough to draw blood as he stares at him. “Tell me it’s not true,” he begs. Harry’s not making eye contact with him. “Harry, tell me it’s not fucking _true_.”

A heartbeat passes. Two. Three. Four. Five.

Harry doesn’t say anything. It’s answer enough.

The buzzing in Niall’s ears grows louder, muting out all the background noise, making him shaky on his feet. He reaches out blindly and grabs Liam’s wrist to steady himself, vision blurring for a second. He’s gonna pass out, probably.

“So it was all an act?” Liam asks quietly, just as stunned. “A lie?”

“Not everything,” Harry says quickly, and Niall closes his eyes. “They killed all of my pack except Zayn, and then took him hostage. They told me if I didn’t do everything they asked they’d murder him.”

And oh, _God,_  it’s horribly, horribly clever. Zayn is Harry’s pressure point, isn’t he? And Harry is Niall’s.

Niall isn’t even paying attention when his pack finally swarms in behind them, shocked murmurs rippling among them as they halt and take in the scene. The puzzle pieces have started falling in place all at once in his head.

The night of Louis’s birthday, when Harry had that nightmare...he wasn’t asking Zayn not to hurt somebody. He was begging someone not to hurt _Zayn_. When they took the trip to Red Bluff, Harry knew exactly when to come home, because the whole thing had been orchestrated, and they’d played right into enemy hands. When he planned that elaborate date just hours ago, made love to him and told him he loved him over and over again - it was because he knew he wasn’t going to get another chance to.

He can feel bile rising in his throat, the thought too much, the shock overwhelming. It feels like his heart is crumbling inside his chest. Feels like something is eating away at his insides, tearing him limb from limb, burning him till he’s nothing but a pile of ashes underfoot.

“I had to pretend everyone was dead. Pretend that I was on your- on your side,” Harry stammers out, face pale. “I had to.”

“But you - why did you bring us back early if you were working for them?” Niall asks, his voice barely trembling. “From Red Bluff, you--”

“Oh, that wasn’t supposed to happen. He was supposed to get rid of you there,” Nick cuts in, and there’s disgusting smirk on his face as he looks down at Harry. “But I think the punishment was more than adequate, wouldn’t you agree, Harry?” He reaches down and squeezes Harry’s shoulder, and Harry lets out a choked-out sob, trying to squirm away.

“You deserve a fucking award for the performance, then,” Niall says, his stare glassy, voice shaking under the weight of his shock and anger combined. Harry flinches, opening his mouth like he wants to say something. “I believed every bit of it.”

“He really was flawless,” Nick croons, a twisted grin on his face. “Just perfect.”

“And what exactly did he do for you?” Niall cuts in sharply, knowing he’s only carving his own wounds deeper, but unable to stop himself.

“Oh, you know,” he waves a hand. “This and that. Where you’d all be and when, what your border defenses are like, individual weaknesses. The usual.”

“Individual weaknesses,” he blurts, anger building. “What individual weaknesses?”

“Vampires, wasn’t it?” Nick asks, cocking his head. Niall’s heart stops. “They broke your knee, right?” He remembers, clear as anything, telling Harry about it one night when they were watching a movie they’d seen a hundred times before. Harry had made sure to take extra care of it after that, bringing him ice even when Niall didn’t ask for it and keeping his painkillers on the kitchen counter in case he needed it. He notices, face burning, that Harry is refusing to make eye contact with him.  

“You control more than half of northern California,” Louis says, voice oozing with fake confidence. “What do you need more territory for?”

“Louis, Louis, Louis,” Nick says lowly. “What kind of a question is that? There’s never enough space, you know. Everyone always scrabbling over land.” 

“What do you call what we’re doing right now?”

“Besides the point. I’m trying to make it simple for you.”

“What’s the point of holding those two hostage now?” Liam barks, gesturing at Zayn and Harry with his jaw twitching. Niall can tell he’s barely holding it together. He doesn’t think he can, anymore. Everything is ripping apart at the seams too fast. “They’re yours, aren’t they?”

Nick flashes a razor-sharp smile, canines gleaming. “Well, it’s easy, really. You forfeit your land, or these two die.”

 _No._ Niall stumbles backwards, running into Willie behind him, but he barely notices. _This isn’t real._ This is just some crazy, fucked up nightmare. He’ll wake up any second now.

“What makes you think we have any value on a traitor’s life?” Louis snarls beside him, voice steely.

_Any second._

“You have some,” Nick replies smoothly. “Someone as _good_ as Liam Payne would never stand for the death of a friend, even one that betrayed him. And I know one of you,” he grins, “cares for this one a great deal.” He reaches out and plucks at the end of Harry’s hair. Both he and Niall flinch at the action.

He’d fallen right into a trap the moment he started caring about Harry, he realizes. The moment he meant _anything_ to him, the plan was working. He’d ignored every last warning sign because he’d trusted him, because he was too blinded by love to see the flaws in Harry’s act.

 _How much of it was real?_ he wants to scream. _How much of it was an act to get on my good side? How the fuck could you do that to me? How could you look me in the eyes and lie to me every goddamn minute of the day?_

He turns to Liam helplessly, looking for some sort of reassurance that things will be alright, like always - but he looks uncharacteristically lost. Everything is unraveling, every careful plan and thought-out maneuver. All because they had a spy in their midst.

A spy he still loves. A spy who, apparently, still loves him.

 _I love you, and it was real, please don’t ever forget that,_ Harry had written. _No matter what happens._

But giving up their land means giving up their home. It means fleeing with their tails tucked, never looking back, abandoning Perrie and the lake and the house and everything he’s ever known, ever loved. It means starting over, from scratch, with no guarantee they’ll even find open land. No promise of safety for a long, long time.

He can feel Louis’ stare on him, and he looks over, then to Liam beside him. Laura, Eoghan, Bressie just behind. And back to Harry again, across the clearing.

He’s made his decision.

“Well?” Nick barks impatiently. “Make up your mind or they die anyways.”  

“Fine,” Liam grits out, lifting his chin high. Niall’s heartbeat thuds, a dull, dooming beat, every second that passes torturous. _Say it,_ he thinks. _Just say it._ Liam inhales slowly.

“We accept.”

“Wonderful,” Nick purrs, his dark hair gleaming as he turns to look down at Harry and Zayn beside him. “It’s been a real pleasure doing business with you.”

Harry gives a subtle, nearly imperceptible shake of his head, his gaze boring into Niall. Niall’s eyes are drawn behind him, to where one of the lower branches is bobbing, moved by something. Or someone. _They’re not necessary yet,_ Nick had said. It takes less than a second for him to understand.

_They’re gonna kill us all anyways._

A split second later, at least fourteen wolves burst into the clearing, that familiar dumpster stench filling the air as they lunge towards them. The rest of his pack is faster than him to react, shifting and barreling through the grass to meet them, teeth bared and jaws open. Niall follows suit with his heart rabbiting in his throat, the familiar sense of panic flooding him as he sees the alpha turn towards Harry and Zayn. He darts through the already vicious fight, dodging packmates and enemies alike in his rush to get there before Nick can kill them both.

Niall throws himself at Nick at the same time he shifts into a massive gray wolf, twisting around to meet him just before Niall lands on his back like he could see him coming. Claws rip down his side, flesh tearing apart along his ribs. Niall snarls in pain, sees Harry out of the corner of his eyes struggling in vain to break the ties around his wrists. There must be some sort of supressment charm on the rope to ensure they can’t shift, but Niall barely has time to think of a way to solve that problem before the Nick’s massive paw is crashing into his jaw and his head gets snapped to the side, vision flickering for a second.

_“Niall!”_

_Someone untie them,_ he thinks, skull throbbing. _Quickly._

When he spares a look around, though, his pack’s numbers have curiously decreased. Deo and Willie are missing, must’ve run off, the fucking cowards.

Nick waits till he gets to his feet, still smiling with his tongue lolling out of his jaws, a wicked glint to his eyes. _Is that all you’ve got?_ he seems to be saying. _Come on._

He’s playing a game with him, the way a cat plays with their food, toying with his head. Niall tries not to take the bait, but it’s a futile effort.

He lunges for him, bracing himself for the pain when Nick rears up and strikes out, paws making contact with his chest as he shoves him away. Niall shakes it off, goes back in again. Same thing happens. Again. Over and over, lashing out at any inch of Nick he can get to, jaws snapping around thin air when he twists away at the last second, depriving him of the drag of fur against his tongue, the tang of blood on his teeth.

He doesn't know how long they go on for, only that he's fighting a losing battle. Nick wasn't bluffing about knowing all of his 'individual weaknesses', and he isn't afraid to play dirty, either. He's going specifically for Niall's hind legs, seems determined to re-injure his knee and take him out like that. 

He loses sight of Harry in the mess, and almost immediately he can feel his tenuous hold on the human side of him slip. His consciousness is starting to retreat, content to take a backseat as the fight unfolds in front of him. He isn’t so much doing things as he is watching himself do it, his limbs moving of their own accord, almost, as he lashes out and clips the side of Nick’s face, relishing the blood that wells up and paints his jaw scarlet.

His satisfaction barely lasts, though, because he pays the price for it twice over - Nick lunges at him, and he’s slammed on to his back, head cracking back against stone. Black spots dance in his vision. Everything is blurry as he lays on his side. He can see Nick’s vague outline prowling around him, mouth stretched in a strange, fanged grin, like he’s enjoying the sight. Probably is.

 _Harry,_ he thinks hazily. _Have to get to Harry._

God, he must have really been hit hard, because his head his throbbing in time with his heart like his brain is trying to pound its way out of his skill, and he thinks it just might. He tries to lift his limbs, to struggle to his feet, can hear someone yelling his name in the background, only his voice is blurry, if voices can be. He lets his eyes fall shut, tastes the blood in his mouth, tangy and coppery as it spills over his tongue. Maybe it’s time to rest.

A flash of blinding white light fills his vision, and he blinks, startled. Dying isn’t as peaceful as he thought it would be - only, he’s not dead just yet.

The light fades after a moment, and the treetops reappear, and then there’s Perrie Edwards, standing in the middle of the clearing with a glowing shield charm around her. _Oh, thank fuck._

For a second, Niall thinks they’re saved, that Perrie will be able to disarm all of the wolves and drive them away - but he knows that’s only a temporary solution. They’ll regroup and come back stronger, and they’ll lose their home either way. The only way to survive is to get out, and quickly.

Suddenly, Perrie's leaning over him, braid dangling over her shoulder and flicking his nose. “Niall, get your ass off the ground this instant.”

Niall complies, muscles screaming as he staggers to his feet, head spinning. Perrie takes his head in her hands, fingers digging into his fur, eyes piercing. He can see over her shoulder; the fight is still raging on, but everything besides Perrie’s gone blurry, slow motion. She must have put a charm in place to buy him time. “Niall, listen to me. When I tell you, I need you to get the pack and run to the back lot of the diner, okay? Willie and Deo have the cars. I want you to get in, and go, and don’t look back.”

Niall whines low in his throat, tail thumping from side to side as he blinks over at Harry and Zayn, who are still tied up.

“I’ll take care of them, don’t worry. You need to go, alright?”

His vision blurs the slightest bit, and it’s not from the dizziness, this time. He doesn’t want her to leave. He doesn’t want to go.

“I’ll be okay, Niall, I promise. Go, yeah? And hurry,” Perrie says, leaning forward to kiss his forehead. He catches a whiff of lavender, of spices and magic and comfort, and then she’s gone, and he’s left standing in the cold.

What happens next is a blur. He tells Liam, Liam gets the pack moving, Perrie rushes to Harry and Zayn, and then they’re on the run, streaming into the shadowy forest with the wolves on their tail.

Niall’s breath comes ragged and heavy as he sprints through miles of the woodland he’s come to know so well over the span of his life, over fallen logs and through streams and around towering redwoods. He can feel a wolf’s breath hot on the tip of his tail, only spurring him on, muscles straining underneath fur as he tries desperately to shake them off.

Two hundred feet away from the edge of the woods, Harry and Zayn bound up on either side of them, and when Niall spares a glance over his shoulder, the Canyon wolves are gone. He sends a silent thank you to Perrie, wherever she is, before bursting out into the open parking lot. Willie’s already peeling out of the place in Louis’s sedan, and the other car’s doors are flung wide open for the pack to enter. They pile in, a jumble of tangled limbs and slamming car doors and panicked shouting - and then they’re off.

Dawn breaks just as they tear out of the parking lot, hesitant rays of sunlight peeking over the horizon and painting the treetops in lines of gold. Niall stares out of the window, sweating, bleeding, breathless as Laura and Liam and Deo scramble around in the back, making enough space in the cramped quarters and checking that everyone’s not fatally injured. He’s got the middle row, along with Harry and Zayn; Louis in shotgun and Bressie driving, and Willie in the other car behind them, tailing closely as they speed towards the highway.

A piercing howl splits the quiet morning wide open, sending an icy cold shock through Niall’s bloodstream. It’s an alpha’s howl, triumphant and jagged and dark. This is what surrender feels like, he thinks, staring out the window, watching frost-kissed rooftops and lopsided shrubs flash by.

This is defeat.

The storm in his head threatening to consume him only grows louder as they head south, edging the speed limit in their panic to get as far away from the Canyon pack as possible. Because how do you react to something like to this? What’s he supposed to feel? Rather, which one of the hundreds of emotions packed inside his heart is he supposed to focus on first?  

Loss, shame, anger, grief, misery, pain, heartbreak, betrayal, shock. The words keep pouring into his head, a relentless flood, filling his skull up to the brim.

Someone sniffles next to him, and he glances over to see Harry brushing tears away with the back of his hand, fingernails caked with mud. The sun is coming up behind him, framing his face with threads of gold, hitting his eyes just right and making them shine a clearer green than he’s ever seen.

More than anything, he thinks as he looks away sharply, he just feels stupid. Stupid that he let himself fall in love, that he’d let his guard down, that he’d really believed something this good could be his. Stupid that he’d let himself be won over by green eyes and a beautiful smile, with kind words and gentle touches and lies. He feels used, and it hurts more than he thought it would.

Everything until a certain point - when Harry fell in love with him - had to have been an act, to whatever extent. Harry’s grief at losing his pack must have been real, most of his personality, the kindness and messiness and tender ways - it has to have been real. The best lies are always close to the truth, aren’t they? But Harry getting close to him, taking care of him, being friends with him at all - that was nothing more than a ruse to get on his good side so that he’d be able to leech information that he could pass on to their enemies.

 _He could have told me._ He could have told Niall he was a double agent, and at least then they would have had a fighting chance. If he had, maybe they wouldn’t have to leave their home, wouldn’t be in this position to start with. But he didn’t. Because he was scared.

His head is a snarled mess of contradictions as he fights the urge to look over at Harry again. He can’t stand being so close to him, but he doesn’t want him to leave. He wants to bash his stupid face in, but he would never dream of hurting him. He wants to shout and scream at him till his voice gives out, but he couldn’t even manage a whisper at this point. He feels empty, all at once.

He presses himself as close to the car door as he can so that he’s not touching Zayn, rests his head against the glass. No one speaks for a long, long time, and he falls into a dark, dreamless sleep.

 

 

\---

 

 

When he wakes up, the soreness in his body has tripled. It hurts to even lift his head, and something in his neck cracks sharply as he straightens up in his seat.

They’ve come to a stop at a gas station, it looks like, the air cool against his skin as he gets out. Bressie’s filling the tank, Willie’s doing the same with Louis’s car, and Niall can see the rest of them milling about in the convenience store. What a sight they must be. Sweaty, dirty, covered in blood. They look a bit homeless. Which - they _are_ , now, he remembers with a bitter sting.

The automatic doors slide open and Liam trundles out, arms full of first aid supplies. Supplies they wouldn’t need, Niall reminds himself, if he’d just listened to Harry’s note. If they’d all made a run for it then, maybe they could have made it unscathed. But he’d have left Harry behind, clueless as to where he was or if he was okay - and that was never going to be an option.

He sidles up to Bressie, watches the numbers tick higher. His own breath smells rank, and he wonders if he remembered to pack a toothbrush. “Where are we?”

“Tehama County,” Bressie informs him. “We’re out of our borders. Should be safe, now.”

Niall nods, glances over his shoulder, his heart jerking in his chest when he sees Harry and Zayn coming back towards the car. “D’you think...we could get to a train station?”

Bressie frowns at him. “For what?”

Niall opens his mouth to speak, but finds he can’t, something lodged in his throat. He closes his mouth, shakes his head.

“Oh,” Bressie murmurs, glancing back at Harry. “You don’t want them to stay with us?”

He shakes his head again.

“Niall, are you - are you sure?”

He nods. “I can’t - I can’t,” he says weakly, wiping his clammy hands on his jeans. He can’t be near Harry right now, doesn’t want to be any closer than he has to. And especially not Zayn, even though this isn’t his fault.

“Alright. Soon as we’re all loaded up, we’ll go,” Bressie says quietly, reaching out and squeezing his shoulder.

“Thank you,” Niall mutters, ducking out of his grip as gingerly as possible before heading around to the back of the car. He opens it up, pulls his bag out of the pile and roots around before he finds a wad of cash. He rifles through it, vision blurring for a moment as he counts it out, and then shoves it in his pocket, closing the trunk with a slam.

 

 

\---

 

 

They arrive at the train station an hour later. Harry’s asleep, Zayn’s staring vacantly into space, fingers twitching every now and then, and the rest of the pack is talking in low voices, still prodding tentatively at bandages and discussing their plan of action. They’ll grieve later, when it’s safe to.

They go over a speed bump too fast in the parking lot, though, and Harry jerks awake, eyes wide as he twists around trying to see where they are. Bressie eases them into a corner parking space.

“Where are we?” Harry asks. No one answers. “Guys?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Laura snaps at the same time Bressie says ‘get out.’

Harry freezes, bewildered eyes darting between the two and resting on Niall. “What?”

“Harry, get out of the car,” Bressie repeats, voice firm.

“I--”

“Get _out_.”

Harry stays still for a moment, eyes still fixed on Niall as if expecting him to protest, but gets out of the car anyways. Niall sees his hand shake as he reaches for the handle.

He steps out of the car as well, steeling himself and shoving all his emotions deep down where Harry can’t pull at them.

“Didn’t think you’d do it here,” Harry says shakily when Niall comes to stand in front of him by the trunk of the car. “It’s kind of public.”

Niall frowns, glancing over at the train station and the few people milling about. “Too public to do what?”

“Kill me.”

“Jesus. I’m not gonna kill you, Harry,” Niall says sharply, only barely keeping himself from rolling his eyes. “I’m not a murderer. We’ve already been over this.” The memory brings back a fresh wave of pain, remembering Harry curled up on the couch, worrying over his bottom lip, asking if Niall would hurt him if he had to. _Never,_ he’d said.

 _You’re breaking your promise,_ a voice in his head whispers.

He opens up the trunk, grabs Harry’s bag, and dumps it on the ground by his feet before slamming it closed again.

“What are you doing?” Harry asks, sounding panicky. He understands what’s happening, now.

Niall ignores his question, closes his eyes briefly, thinks about the shock of dark hair, the sharp cut of his jaw. “Do you,” he starts, his voice cutting out. “Do you love him? Zayn, I mean."

Harry shakes his head, looking bewildered. “I mean - yeah, of course I do, just not the same way I love you.”

“But you were willing to value his life above seven others, including mine.”

“Niall--”

“Answer me,” he snaps. His hands are shaking. “Answer the fucking question.”

“He was the only family I had left, Niall,” Harry says desperately. “I would’ve done anything for him. I still would. But the more I got to know all of you, when I fell in _love_ with you--” his voice cracks sharply, and Niall glances away-- “I realized I couldn’t do it anymore. When I left Louis’s party that night, I told them I wasn’t gonna go through with it. But they made me watch while they tortured him, Niall, I couldn’t - couldn’t let them do that.”

“And you knew they were never gonna go through with the bargain, you knew they were gonna kill all of us anyways.”

“I told you not to follow me!” Harry says, voice rising. “I told you to run, and you still came after me like they knew you would!”

“So it’s my fault?”

“It’s not your fault, Niall, but I did the best I could. I tried to keep you safe. I did everything in my power to keep the people I love alive,” Harry pleads, tears welling in his eyes. “Is that a crime?"

Niall stays silent.

“Look, if you hate me right now, I understand. If you can’t forgive me, that’s okay, but for what it’s worth, know that I’m sorry,” Harry begs, reaching up and wiping away the stray tears with the sleeve of his sweater. “So, so sorry. I never wanted to hurt you, Niall. Please believe that, at least.”

Niall inhales slowly, keeping his eyes purposely away from Harry. He feels like he’s about to cry or throw up or punch something. Maybe all three. He waits for a second, two, collecting his thoughts as best he can despite the scattered mess the last 24 hours have left them. “I think...I think you should leave,” he says after a while, hears the choked noise Harry makes as he starts crying in earnest. “I’ve decided, actually. I don’t think I can be near you right now.”

“What are you - what are you saying?” Harry blubbers, but he already knows the answer to the question.

Niall pulls the roll of bills out from his back pocket, takes Harry’s hand and presses it into his palm. The touch burns. “That should be enough to get you to Sacramento. To see your family, yeah?”

“Niall, don’t,” Harry’s begging, and he looks the very image of heartbreak, with his red-rimmed eyes and pale skin and hair blowing into his face. It never occurred to him that separation from each other might kill Harry as much as it kills Niall. “Please don’t do this.”

“You lied to me for months, Harry. You put my family in danger. I think you owe me this,” he says coldly, regretting it the instant the words leave his mouth. Harry’s face falls, and the sobs subside. He wraps his arms around himself instead, fingers clutching at his sweater.

 _This is it,_ he thinks, tearing his eyes away from Harry’s crying face. _Get Zayn out,_ he thinks at Bressie, and a moment later, he hears the rumble of his voice inside the car, and then the door opening as Zayn slips out to join Harry, looking bewildered and rumpled.

“Please don’t leave me here,” Harry begs. 

“Goodbye, Harry.”

Zayn cuts in then, speaking for the first time. “We don’t have a pack to go to, you can’t just--”

“You should be grateful we didn't leave you to die in that fucking forest,” Niall snaps, heat leaking back into his tone, wishing he’d just kept his mouth shut instead when he sees the way Harry’s eyes go blank, like he’s just. Switched off. _Wait,_ he wants to say, the words melting like sugar on his tongue. _I’m sorry._ But he doesn't say anything, except, "Go home." 

He turns around, squashing the stirrings of pain in his chest. _This is it._

He slides into the passenger seat on autopilot, mouth gone dry. The car door slams shut, the sound echoing in his ears. They wait until Harry and Zayn start walking to the station, and then back out, the hum of the engine cutting through his thoughts as they peel slowly out of the lot. He refuses to look at Harry through the rearview mirror, refuses to even glance at it - and by the time his resolve breaks, it’s too late. Harry’s nothing but a speck on the platform, bag slung over his shoulder.

Niall stares at the speck until his vision goes blurry and wet and he can feel something burn white-hot in his chest. _This is it._  


They turn the corner. He tries to shake the feeling that he’s left a part of him behind. 

And he tries to let go.

  
  


_He tries._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *whispers* this isn't the end, don't get mad at me yet


	8. Chapter 8

He tries, but he can’t do it. He’s not gone far, just barely down the street, but it’s like something’s snapped inside him, unraveling the same way he’d felt when he first entertained the possibility of having to leave his home for good. He’s lost, directionless, and he’s not stupid enough to think it has to do with anything but Harry. All he can do is stare down at his hands, heart slamming in his chest, thinking,  _ what the hell have I done?  _

A lot of things go through his head in rapid succession as they wait at the traffic light. 

Getting space from Harry seemed the right thing to do, seemed like what he needed to think straight - but now that he’s done it, it just seems like a mistake. Besides, if there’s one thing he’s learned, it’s that if you find a good thing, you don’t let go. Even if it’s hard, even if it seems impossible. Leaving Harry behind at the station was giving up. It was rolling over, it was a white flag, it was a surrender to the cruel hands of the universe. 

_ This can’t be it,  _ he thinks, a little panicky, watching Bressie punch something into the sat nav, something that’ll take him farther away from Harry.  _ This isn’t how it ends _ . He’s just lost the last bright spark in his life, and it’s not just bad luck or fate’s hand this time. He’s done it himself. This suffering is his own doing, his own choice, and he’ll have to live with it. 

_ Do you? _ a tinny voice in his head intones, and he pauses. 

He can still feel the knot of emotions stuck in his throat, the betrayal and shock and bitterness doused in anger like gasoline, ready to explode into flames at any second - but one day, when that fire burns out, the ashes will taste like regret, and he - he doesn’t  _ want _ that at all. What he wants is for Harry to be there when that happens, so that he can make reparations for the things he’s done and be forgiven for mistakes that were out of his hands. His pain may lie with Harry, but so does his peace, and he wants that peace more than anything he can ever remember wanting before. Even if the forgiveness inside him takes years to surface, even if it wavers sometimes under the pressure of his anger, that’s...that’s what he wants. 

And if it was him in Harry’s place, if it was a knife being held to Liam’s throat unless he infiltrated a strange pack he had no previous attachment to, he would do it. If it was Harry that wormed his way into his heart and made him rethink everything, if he wanted to keep everyone alive and happy for as long as he could, he’d do it. He’d do it, and he’s made the biggest mistake of his life by blaming Harry for doing the same. 

“Pull over, Bress.” 

Bressie glances over at him. “What?” 

“Pull over!” 

Bressie hesitates for a second before swerving and screeching to a stop on the side of the road, earning middle fingers from the drivers behind them. The pack clamors in the back, asking what’s going on, but their voices are nothing but background noise to him. Bressie stares wide eyed as he watches Niall fumble with his seatbelt. “What are you doing?” Niall doesn’t answer, just throws the door open. “Niall, where--” 

Niall doesn’t hear the rest of it, because he’s busy pelting down the sidewalk, lungs burning and eyes watering as he races back to the station.  _ Please don’t let it be too late,  _ he prays, stumbling around the corner and cutting through the parking lot towards the building.  _ Please.  _

The crowd has grown, now, and he doesn’t see him, even when he rushes inside the building. There’s people at the ticket counters, on benches, rushing to catch their train, but none of them are who he’s looking for. He whips his head around, trying to spot him, a sob building in his chest because he’s too  _ late,  _ isn’t he - and then he sees him. 

Harry, standing there, bag at his feet, Zayn a few feet away. Harry, who he wasn’t meant to care for, who blew into his life like a hurricane and left him devastated in the best and worst ways possible. Harry, who carries spiders outside instead of squishing them and who cries during movies that aren’t even sad and who never touches the leftovers in the fridge because he knows Niall wants them. Harry, who he loves. 

Harry only sees him coming when he’s a few feet away, and Niall doesn’t even slow down; he barrels straight into him and feels the air leave his chest when Harry catches him and holds him tight so the both of them don’t topple to the floor, stumbling backwards with the force of it. He doesn’t wait until they’re stable to kiss him, either, grabs his face and pulls him closer till their lips crash together. 

It’s unlike any kiss they’ve ever shared before, heavy and bruising and hard. Harry’s holding him so close he thinks they might just sink into each other; it’s full of desperation, of passion and need, and Niall knows in that moment that he was foolish to think he could ever survive without it. 

“What,” Harry pants as he pulls away, eyebrows scrunched up, eyes full of confusion and tears. “What the hell are you doing?” 

Niall pauses to catch his breath, looping his arms over Harry’s shoulders and knocking their foreheads together. “Is it too late to change my mind?” 

“No,” Harry shakes his head, crying harder. “No, it’s not.” 

“I don’t want you to go,” Niall tells him. He’s close enough to see the flecks of pale green in Harry’s eyes, shining in the morning light. “I’m not leaving you here. I’m sorry for even thinking about it, actually. I want you to stay, if you still want to.” 

“Of course I do, idiot,” Harry breathes, smiling and sobbing, clutching him closer like he can’t quite believe he’s here. “I want to stay with you.” 

“It doesn’t mean I can forgive you yet,” Niall reminds him.

“I know. I don’t deserve that, anyways.” 

“And I’m still mad. I’ll probably be mad for a long time.” 

“That’s okay,” Harry nods, eyes wide and so unbearably hopeful. “If you let me stay, I promise it’ll be okay. Everything.” 

A slow smile makes its way onto Niall’s face, and he doesn’t even realize he’s crying until Harry reaches up between them and brushes the tears away, thumbs coming back wet. “I love you,” he whispers. It feels like the dust is settling. 

“Love you more,” Harry breathes, laughing a bit hysterically, eyes shining and -  _ this _ , he thinks. 

If he has this, he'll be fine. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we got the happy ending!!!! i really do hope this final chapter lived up to expectations. i had been planning a horribly sad end to it all for The Longest time, but i decided that was too cruel so I hope this new ending isn't too unrealistic or messy and all that. thank you all so much for the sweet comments throughout the posting of this fic, they all mean a ton to me :) let me know if you're interested in an epilogue!


	9. epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is less of an epilogue than it is a collection of snippets from various points in time after the last chapter, in chronological order. I don’t know if I’ll be going back into this universe after this, so I wanted to give you a brief view of how things pan out for them and how everyone starts settling down into their new normal, as well as wrap up a bunch of loose ends. Consider this the true happy ending to the story.

**_Early February, one month after the attack._ **

 

As birthdays go, this one is particularly memorable.

Not _bad,_ necessarily, because he’s got Niall tucked under his arm, his laughter filling the air; there’s the last crumbs of his birthday cake in the box on the counter, all of them halfway to tipsy town while crammed into the living room of Bressie’s friend’s apartment, where they’ve been crashing for the last month.

“Earth to Haz,” Niall slurs, waving a hand in front of Harry’s face. “What’re ya thinkin’ about?”

Harry smiles down at him, leaning into his side. “Nothing much.”

“You having a good birthday?”

“The best,” Harry says, and Niall smiles widely at him, eyes crinkling up at the corners before he leans up on his tiptoes and plants a kiss on his cheek. “Aw, give me a proper kiss,” Harry pouts, but the words are barely out of his mouth before the sound of a breaking bottle reaches their ears, and the room spins to look at Louis and Zayn in the kitchen, who are standing two feet apart from each other, breathing hard, looking livid.

“You don’t get to boss people around just ‘cos you think you’re the shit!” Louis yells, eyes wild.

A muscle in Zayn’s jaw feathers dangerously. “First of all, I wasn’t bossing you around--”

“Yeah, right!”

“Secondly, I’m an alpha, you idiot!” Zayn shouts back, his words slurring together, hands now on his hips. The entire room is dead silent, watching Louis and Zayn go back and forth. “I _am_ the shit!”

Louis growls, then - literally growls, the sound familiar to Harry from fighting side by side with him - but Harry’s already making his way across the room, and Niall’s doing the same.

He grabs Zayn’s wrist, tugging him away from Louis, who looks seconds away from tackling him. “Deep breaths, you idiot,” he mutters, patting his chest. “No bloody noses on my birthday.”

Zayn turns to look at him, anger dissipating almost entirely the second he steps out of range of Louis. “Right,” he breathes, eyes focusing on Harry’s face. “Sorry, H.”

“S’okay,” he mutters, turning to see Niall staring at him, a crooked smirk on his face, one arm wrapped around Louis, who’s grabbed another beer, apparently to replace the one that’s still shattered on the kitchen floor. “Now apologize.”

“What?” Louis snaps from across the kitchen, having heard him. “I’m not apologizing to that asshole.”

“He’s not an asshole,” Harry retorts at the same time Zayn snaps _‘I’m not an asshole’_.

“Alright, c’mon,” Niall says, clearly already tired of the argument. “Kiss and make up, go on.”

“Ew,” Zayn mutters, and Louis scowls.

“Just say you’re sorry,” Harry prompts, nudging Zayn with his hip. “C’mon. It’s not hard, I promise.” Niall catches his eye, mirth leaving the line of his mouth.

“I’m not going first,” Zayn insists stubbornly.

“I’m not either.” Louis adds.

 _Be the bigger person,_ Harry thinks at Zayn, and almost instantly Zayn spouts out _i’m sorry_ so quickly Harry barely catches it.

“Your turn,” Niall urges, patting Louis’s shoulder. “C’mon. Spit it out.”

It looks like it genuinely pains Louis to get the words out, with the way his whole body tenses up and his eyes go all squinty. “I’m sorry,” he says quickly. Zayn lifts his chin grudgingly, and Louis turns away.

He and Niall keep them apart for the rest of the night, and it’s good because it means there aren’t any fistfights, but bad because it means he’s not got Niall clinging to him and laughing in his ear and kissing him until his own mouth tastes like beer even though he hasn’t drank anything.

Niall makes it up to him wonderfully, though, crowding him into the bathroom and pinning him to the wall, dropping to his knee and fumbling with Harry’s belt buckle before he can even get a word out. It’s not a bad birthday, all things considered. _Not bad,_ he thinks, tugging Niall to his feet and kissing him hard, hands on the cut of his biceps gripping not quite hard enough to bruise. _Not bad at all._

 

**_March._ **

 

Harry is wandering through the woods.

Moonlight slices through the treetops and illuminates strips of the forest floor before him, dancing between shadows as the branches shift. He’s not sure where he’s headed, but he’s being guided by a pull behind his navel, taut and insistent. It takes him through clearings and streams, over hills and fallen trees; it takes him deeper into the shadows, towards the darkness that blots out the starlight and swallows him up until he can’t see much of anything anymore except in shades of gray.

The leaves underneath his feet grow slippery and wet, though, damp with something. There’s a warmth to the air around him, but it’s not comfortable; instead, it’s humid and heavy, clinging to his skin and making him sweat. His heart rate kicks up a notch, even though nothing much has changed around him, like his body is reacting to it before his brain does.

He stumbles suddenly, tripping over something solid on the ground before him and landing on his elbows and knees. “Jesus,” he mutters, sitting up straight and twisting around to see what he’d fallen over - and his heart stops.

Something dark and wet is splattered over the leaves around him, leading up to the still-breathing body of the man he’d tripped over, whose face is turned away from him.

Mouth dry, Harry squints closer at the dark liquid, then down at his hands, stained scarlet. For some reason, it takes him an eternity to register that it’s blood. Blood, everywhere, on the ground, on his clothes, covering the man’s body.

“Oh, God.” He scrambles closer and rolls the guy towards him, the coppery smell of his blood suddenly high in the air - and then starts sobbing, heart caught in his throat, lungs straining for air.

Because it’s Niall. It’s Niall, with his throat ripped out, glassy eyes fluttering, blood speckling his face as he wheezes for breath. The sheer amount of blood makes him want to retch, because it really is everywhere, pouring from Niall’s wounds, but all he can do is clutch him closer to himself, tears dripping down his face and landing on Niall’s, doing nothing to clear away the bloodstains on his pale face.

“Niall, c’mon, stay with me,” he’s babbling, vision blurring with tears. “Niall. Please, don’t. I’m sorry, please - hold on, alright?” Hold on for what, he doesn’t know. There’s no help coming, he knows, somehow. They’re all alone.

Niall makes a noise in the back of his throat, choking on it, and Harry holds his breath, leans closer.

 _“Your,”_ Niall gets out, voice strangled, weak. Harry’s heart sinks, closing his eyes, knowing what word is coming next. _“Fault.”_ He flails a hand out, hand meeting Harry’s chest, his fingers fisting the material of his shirt, clinging on.

“Niall,” Harry cries, pressing his forehead to Niall’s, gasping for breath, hands cupping Niall’s face. “Niall, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, please.”

“Pet,” Niall says, his voice suddenly clear, unhindered by torn vocal cords or the blood gurgling in his mouth. “Pet, wake up. C’mon. Harry.”

Harry blinks.

The dying Niall in his dream disappears, replaced by the real one, healthy and very much alive, bending over him with his blue eyes brimming with worry, forehead all screwed up. The lamp on the dresser is switched on.

“Niall?” He croaks, air finally flooding his lungs. “Niall,” he says again, and then there’s tears leaking out of the corners of his eyes, sliding down into his hairline.

“Up,” Niall says gently, hands coming up to brace Harry’s shoulders as he sits up in bed, sheets pooling around his waist, sobs wracking his entire body as he pulls Niall closer, hands skimming up and down his body as if making sure he’s real. He can’t get that image out of his head, Niall staring blankly at him, anger filling his eyes at the things Harry’s done, even in his last moments.

He’s had worse nightmares, though, and he knows how this will go. He and Niall will sit in bed, pressed close, until his tears subside. Niall will ask if he wants to talk about it. Harry will usually say yes, because he’s done hiding things from him, but sometimes he can’t make the words come out and Niall will understand. If it’s Niall who had the nightmare, Harry will do the same for him, and they’ll talk into the small hours of the morning, conversation coming and passing, neither of them able to sleep if the other is hurting.

It’s a miserable existence, scarred by trauma and the haunting of past mistakes, eased only by the man sitting beside him, eyes warm as they find his in the dim light.

 

**_April._ **

 

The credits roll, and Niall slumps back against the couch, reaching for the remote. Harry’s already asleep, head on Niall’s shoulder, snores soft and steady. Outside on the balcony, Liam, Louis, and Zayn are lounging on chairs, smoke curling in the air with the setting sun framing their silhouettes. Niall notices, with vague interest, that Louis and Zayn are sharing a cigarette.

Which isn’t all that surprising, considering they’ve got on like a house on fire after they overcame their original distrust and hesitance, but still. Sometimes, the image of the three of them is jarring, like it’s how it always should’ve been even though it’s only been normal for a few months.

They’ve got their own place now, though it’s still a horribly tight fit with the five of them in an apartment meant for two or three, max, but they’re making do. Bressie, Deo and Willie are down the street, and regrettably, Laura’s now got a place across town. The distance between all of them isn’t the best, and the nearest forest is quite a ways away, making it hard to go out for a run every time they feel the need to shift. Sometimes Niall comes home to a tangle of wolves in the living room, Louis and Zayn tussling by the window and Liam passed out on the couch, curled up with his tail over his nose. They don’t have a lot of furniture to ruin, anyways, so it’s alright.

Harry stirs next to him, blinking sleepily. “Did I fall asleep?”

“Sure did.”

“What did I miss?”

“We’ve watched this movie thirty times, Harry. You already know how it ends.”

“So?”

The screen door slides open and Louis steps in, Zayn and Liam trailing after. “Has Sleeping Beauty arisen?” Louis calls, and Harry frowns, already opening his mouth to argue with the nickname.

 

**_June._ **

“I just don’t think fruit belongs in salad,” Niall grumbles, watching as Harry drops strawberry slices into the bowl before starting to toss it.

“Just trust me,” Harry says, rolling his eyes, and the words spill out of Niall’s mouth before he can stop them.

“Yeah, ‘cause that worked out so well last time.”

Harry stills entirely. He looks like he’s holding his breath as he stares blankly down at the greens inside the bowl, fingertips stained red with strawberry juice.

“What?” Niall sighs, feigning boredom like he hasn’t done anything wrong. Like he shouldn’t have kept his mouth shut.

Harry lifts his head then, mouth in a tight line. “Can you stop doing that?” He says quietly, so faintly Niall barely hears it.

“Stop doing what?”

Harry just shakes his head, returning to the salad.

“Fuck’s sake, Harry, just say--”

“You keep saying that you’ve forgiven me, but you clearly haven’t!” Harry snaps loudly, heat rising in his cheeks. He’s holding the salad tong in one hand, and the other is fisted tightly by his side. The image is absurd, but Niall doesn’t dwell on it very long. “You keep bringing it up over and over and I don’t know what you want me to do.”

“In case you forgot,” he growls, “I have good reason to be angry.”

“I said I’m sorry!” Harry throws his hands up, voice rising an octave. “I still am, Niall. I’m not forgetting about what I did anytime soon, but if we can’t just fucking put this behind us I don’t think we can do this."

The retort Niall had prepared shrivels up instantly, and he’s stunned into silence. “Can’t--” he clears his throat, trying to force the words out, but it’s like barbed wire catching on his skin. “Can’t do what?”

Harry’s eyes are shining in the kitchen lights, but he’s not crying. “This,” he says quietly, waving a hand between them. “Us.”

Niall’s heart is pounding. This started with an argument about fruit and now...now this. He wipes his hands on his jeans. “Right,” he chokes out. “I’m. I’m gonna get to bed.”

“You haven’t had dinner,” Harry protests, but Niall just shakes his head.

“I’m not hungry.”

As it is, he doesn’t fall asleep for a long time. He lays in their bed, unease curling in his gut as Harry’s words play on repeat in his head like a broken record. _I don’t think we can do this._

The last couple months have been rocky, no doubt, but it’s never come to the breaking point. Before that day in late December, it was easy in a way Niall had never experienced. They barely argued, if ever, and life was filled with golden laughter and burning hot touches and a carefree understanding between the two of them that he knew he would never find with anyone else. That was all under a pretense, though, and Niall was too blind to realize it.  

But it isn’t like that anymore. It’s been an unspoken rift between them, something they’ve chosen to smooth over and sweep under the rug until now. Niall’s inability to let go is what kept them together, and now, in yet another cruel twist of fate, it’s what’s tearing them apart.

Through the crack under the bedroom door, Niall sees the kitchen lights turn off, the apartment deathly quiet. He realizes, with a burn of embarrassment, that Louis and Zayn must have heard them arguing while lighting up in Zayn’s room. A few moments later, the door creaks open, and he sees the familiar shape of Harry’s frame silhouetted in shadow.

“Niall?” He says quietly as he shuffles towards the bed. His voice sounds raw, croaky. He’s been crying. “Are you awake?”

“Yeah,” Niall whispers after a moment, twisting onto his back. He hears Harry come around to the other side of the bed to get in, the planes of his back shifting underneath his thin t-shirt in the faint light coming from the streetlight outside. Harry lifts up the sheets and slides in quickly, careful not to let the cold seep in because he knows Niall hates it. That simple action has the hot sting of tears beginning to burn in his eyes, trembling on his lash line.

“Ni, I’m sorry,” Harry whispers once he’s settled in. The size of the bed makes it hard for them to be far apart at all, but with the way he’s been careful not to touch him, it feels like it anyways. “I didn’t mean what I said at all. I don’t wanna lose you. And you’re entitled to still feel angry at me, I’m sorry.” He sniffs quietly. “Was selfish of me to get upset about it.”

Niall scoots closer, unable to stay so far away for any longer. He wraps an around around Harry’s waist, relief soothing over his heart when he doesn’t pull away. “You don’t need to apologize, Haz. I was being stupid, I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. I’m sorry.”

“I just wish you could trust me again,” Harry whispers, and it strikes Niall as if it wasn’t meant for him to hear but slipped out of Harry’s mouth anyways.

“We’re not gonna give up on us, right?” Niall asks after a while, his voice barely heard over the street noise echoing outside. “No matter how hard it gets?”

“No matter how hard it gets,” Harry repeats, eyes finding Niall’s in the faint light. “I love you,” he adds, voice trembling, and it sounds like a promise.

“Love you more.”

 

 

\---

 

 

“He’s delicate, you know?” Zayn says slowly, blowing smoke out of his mouth and letting his arm dangle over the side of the chair, the lines of his wrist deceivingly fragile. His eyes glow honey-brown in the light of the setting sun, pensive as he glances over at Niall. “I still don’t know how he managed to pull it off. He can’t lie for shit, usually.”

“It was your life at stake,” Niall points out, ignoring the bitter emotions beginning to show their faces in his head, last night’s fight still fresh in his memory. “He’d do anything for you.”

“And you,” Zayn says. “He really does love you, Niall.”

“I know.” He folds his hands in his lap, beer bottle pressed between his thighs, the glass frigid even through his jeans. “I just can’t trust him like that anymore. I love him, but I can’t…” he trails off, closing his eyes. “He lied to me for so long.”

“Not of his own volition.”

“But he still did. He could’ve told me, you know.”

“He wanted to,” Zayn says, and when Niall glances over at him, confused, he explains. “When the pack came to your town, they were keeping me in that abandoned warehouse. Goodwill, I think it was. Sometimes Harry would come close enough that the whole--” he gestures between his and Niall’s heads-- “connection would work, and he would tell me everything in the time he had. You took up a lot of that time, now that I think about it,” he laughs. “He wanted to tell you so badly, Niall. He was just--”

“Scared,” Niall finishes.

“You can’t blame him,” Zayn says gently, but his tone is firm. “He’s a good person, Niall. He never wanted to hurt you. None of this is his fault. If anything, it’s mine.”

“I know,” Niall mumbles, picking at the tear in his jeans. “I know that now.”

 

 

\---

 

 

It doesn’t get instantly easy after that. Niall had to sit the both of them down and make Harry tell him all of it, get everything out in the open - from the dirty details of how he’d spilled Niall’s secrets to Nick to which parts of his time with him were real and which were forced. None of it was pleasant to hear, but he’d promised Harry forgiveness, and that’s what he’ll give him.

 

**_September._ **

 

Summer comes to an end slowly, the heat clinging to the edges of the city like it doesn’t want to leave just yet. The air conditioning in the building, predictably, breaks down just when they need it the most, and nobody finds the idea of sitting cooped up all day very appealing. That’s how Niall finds himself sitting in the grass in the middle of the Golden Gate Park, guitar in lap, strumming aimlessly, Harry beside him coaxing a ladybug onto his finger. Zayn’s sat not far away in the shade, brushing the little bugs that crawl up on his sketchbook away every few minutes; Liam’s tossing a ball across the open space for Louis, who’s chosen to remain a wolf for today’s outing, to fetch. He had to be brushed and cleaned and have a collar forced over his head so that he’d pass as a dog, all of which he sulked through, but it’s the price he has to pay for being allowed a few hours of freedom.

Harry makes a pleased noise, lifting his finger up slowly for Niall to see. The ladybug is clinging on precariously the tip of his index finger, her little wings fluttering now and then as she crawls up onto his fingernail.

And then Louis comes barreling into Harry, knocking him flat on his back and practically assaulting him as his tail thumps back and forth. The ladybug flies off, and Niall’s left to watch as Louis’s fur sheds everywhere as he finally rolls off Harry and writhes about in the mud, as wolves-as-dogs are wont to do, apparently. Liam comes up, laughing, reaches out and scratches his fingers through the shaggy fur on Louis’s head, who promptly turns and licks his hand.

“Ew,” Liam groans.

Zayn ambles over a few minutes later, book tucked under his arm and his pencil case in one hand. “We about ready to leave?”

“Gimme a minute,” Liam sighs, and stops dropping blades of grass on Harry’s head, who remains unaware of the recent additions to his hair. Getting Louis to stay still long enough to clip his leash on is a struggle, and he doesn't seem inclined to make it any easier.

It happens, eventually, and then all of them are standing except for Harry, who’s brushing grass out of his hair and glaring at each of them in turn as if they all played a part in it.

“C’mon, Haz,” Niall sighs, reaching a hand out. Harry glances at him, a leaf sticking out of the side of his head endearingly. He takes his hand, and Niall pulls him up, wraps an arm around his waist. “Let’s go.”

 

**_December._ **

 

Niall’s never lived in a big city. Even after almost 12 months of living here, San Francisco continues to catch him off guard. For one, there’s never a moment of silence. The most noise he would ever get back home was a frog outside his window. Now, Niall spends most of his nights awake till the early hours of the morning, kept up by the glare of streetlights on the bedroom window and the wail of sirens rushing down the streets. Harry, of course, is unbothered, and snores on despite the noise.

It’s a lot better than he could’ve expected, though. They still haven’t properly marked out territory, and he still misses his creaky, drafty old house and the lake and the forests so fiercely it hurts sometimes - but it’s good, all the same. It feels like a place he could come to love, given time to get used to it.

He and Harry explore the best parts of it when they find the time. They scrounge up enough money to see the Exploratorium, because Niall’s been dying to go. They take the subway to Pier 39 to watch the sea lions blubber about and piss on the docks. They ride the cable car, and visit Union Square, and burn their fingers on steaming hot Thai street food neither of them can pronounce the name of.

He and Harry spend one evening wandering around the city, arms linked and hands tucked into winter coats; it’s chilly, and the cold has turned the tip of Harry’s nose and his ears rosy. The lines of his face are so soft underneath the glow of the lights strung along the tops of the buildings, so familiar. Niall turns away quickly when Harry catches him staring, sees the laughter lines etched deep on Harry’s face out of the corner of his eye when he smiles. All of this is a long way from where he thought he’d be, but he’s glad that in every version of the universe he could have lived in, he ended up in this one.

 

 

\---

 

 

Harry’s phone buzzes in his pocket just as the front door closes behind him. He pulls his beanie off, curls shaking loose around his face as he shrugs out of his rain-damp coat, grocery bags dangling from his hands. The heating in the apartment cut out hours ago, but it’s still far warmer in here than outside.

There’s a couple of texts from Gemma on his screen, asking if he’s coming home for Christmas and if he’s bringing Niall. Harry smiles down at his phone as he taps out a reply. He’d gone alone in August to Sacramento, despite Niall’s protests that he should come with him. It was something he had to do alone, though, and it had been a rough start, difficult enough that he considered asking Niall to drive down to be with him.

Anne and Gemma were both understandably furious when he’d shown up on their doorstep with a sheepish smile and an explanation prepared and memorized. All of it went out the window, though. He’d been expecting some tears and maybe a heated conversation, but not the slap from Gemma that was delivered swiftly the second she saw him. She’d yelled at him for a solid half hour, but then he explained everything - that he wasn’t entirely human, that he’d run away because he was scared they wouldn’t love him, and then there were more tears and a lot of hugging. Things worked out well, in the end, and he returned back their dingy little apartment in San Francisco after a couple of weeks.

Harry slides the grocery bags onto the kitchen countertop before following the warm traces of Niall’s scent into their bedroom, floorboards creaking underneath his socked feet.

He finds Niall curled up in the middle of the bed, nearly hidden by the mound of blankets piled around him. The lights are off save for the lamp on the dresser, casting the room in a hazy yellow glow. He looks adorably cozy, bundled up in one of Harry’s sweatshirts with the hood on and his reading glasses sliding halfway down the line of his nose as he stares at the dog-eared book in his lap.

“Hey, pet,” Niall murmurs when Harry shuts the door behind him, closing the book and pushing his glasses up as he glances over at him. “Did you get everything?”

Harry nods, crawling onto the mattress and stretching his legs out. “I’ll unpack it later. Or I'll make Zayn do it.”

The corner of Niall’s mouth quirks up in a half-smile. “Lazy bones.”

“Heyyy,” Harry drawls, rolling over and pushing his face into the pillow. “No name calling.”

“Couch potato,” Niall continues, eyebrow arching. He leans over him, body weight a familiar comfort as he tosses his book onto the dresser. “I just got off the phone with Perrie, by the way.”

“Yeah? How is she?”

“Good,” Niall sighs, slumping back on the bed. “Safe. Bit lonely. She didn’t say, but I could tell.”

“She could come here,” Harry suggests, voice quiet. “To the city. Stay nearby.”

“She wouldn’t,” Niall shrugs. “She loves that place too much to ever leave it of her own will.” _So did I,_ is what Harry hears, and the familiar tug of guilt yanks at the bottom of his gut. He pushes it away, though, changes topics.

“Gemma texted,” he says, and Niall hums, interested.

“What’d she say?”

“Wants to know if I’d go home for Christmas.”

“You should say yes.”

“I did. She wants you to come, too.”

“Why me?” Niall frowns, propping his head up on an elbow.

“Because you’re my boyfriend,” Harry grins, rolling his eyes. “And they want to meet you. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” Niall repeats, leaning in close enough that the tips of their noses brush, but not kissing him yet. “I’d love to go, if you’re sure.”

“Of course I’m sure. I want you to be there.”

“Okay,” Niall whispers, smiling, and then kisses him. Harry pushes back eagerly, licking along the seam of his mouth until he opens up - he tastes like apples and cinnamon, strangely, and Harry frowns.

“Did you eat my turnovers?”

Niall freezes. His eyes widen. “Um.”

“My apple turnovers,” Harry repeats for emphasis. “The ones I specifically told you not to touch because they’re for Laura’s birthday. Which is tonight.”

“I don’t remember you saying that,” Niall confesses faintly, glasses fogging up with how close he is when Harry sighs loudly. “Sorry.”

“Niall.”

“I’m sorry! I’ll help you make new ones, if you want.”

“I’d rather you didn’t,” Harry snips, though it doesn’t have enough heat to justify the desperate puppy-dog eyes Niall gives him.

“Don’t be like that, pet,” he murmurs, pouting. He kisses him again, Harry lets him, and all the fight in him, little as it was, is stamped out. He settles his hands on Niall’s waist, heart thumping steadily as Niall pulls away, mouth missing his and catching his cheek instead.

“Christ, I’m tired,” Niall says around a yawn, eyes fluttering shut. “Reckon we have time for a nap?”  

“Who’s the lazy bones now?”

“Shut up,” Niall grins, eyes still closed.

Harry he pulls the blankets over them before kissing Niall’s forehead lightly. Niall leans into his touch and wraps an arm around his waist while slotting his leg in between Harry’s. He closes his eyes, letting himself succumb to his exhaustion and the warmth of Niall’s body bleeding into his while the rain pours down outside.

 

They have time.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> again, thank you all so much for reading and supporting me throughout this fic. love you <3

**Author's Note:**

> please let me know if you liked it! i'm on tumblr under the same username as well if you want to talk to me there.


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